


Just Another Normal Operation

by EllianaDunla



Series: (Not So) Normal Days [2]
Category: Merlin (TV), Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 189,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllianaDunla/pseuds/EllianaDunla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana may be dealt with, but Mordred is still very much alive. And Section D now have a traitor of their own to contend with. Renewed cooperation between Camelot and MI-5 could solve both their problems, or they could make it ten times worse. </p><p>Sequel to Just Another Normal Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers. If you’ve read Just Another Normal Day, welcome back. If you didn’t, it might be a good idea to read that first.  
> I wasn’t planning on having this story up so soon already, but thanks to VelocityGirl1980 on ff, who gave me a lot of ideas, the plot bunnies came hopping in. And it’s ridiculously hot here, heat causes sleepless nights and sleepless nights cause a lot of even more ideas, so here we are.  
> Enjoy!

It was just another normal day in the life of Merlin, the now-not-so-very-secret-anymore warlock of Camelot. And that meant that he was on a hunt or, more accurately, Merlin was riding after Arthur while the king was trying to find some game he could shoot for his own amusement. Yes, of course they were on a hunt. They always went hunting when Arthur was fed up with the boring business of state and the even more boring nobles on the council – meaning: Lord Harold – and whenever he saw the chance, he would sneak out to spend some time out of doors, doing one of the things he loved best: shooting defenceless animals for his own fun, a pastime Ros Myers had rightly condemned as a “bloody waste of time when there are still bandits to be caught.”

Much had changed in the last two months, the warlock pondered as he sat in the saddle, steering his horse after Arthur’s, waiting for something to happen. Morgana had died eight weeks ago to the day and while Merlin still felt some grief and regret over the manner of her passing, he would have to admit that the long-term effects of working with the spooks were good. Morgana was no longer plaguing the kingdom, Agravaine had been dealt with and they had come out of it with the friendship of Section D.

But, like Lucas had once pointed out to Marlin, friendship was probably overrated. Strangely enough Arthur and Lucas himself seemed to be the only ones to have ended up with a permanent friendship, most likely because of the things they’d gone through together. The Senior Case Officer was still uneasy around Merlin though, but the feeling was mutual. Some things could not be forgotten so easily. And as much as the warlock regretted acting as he had, he also knew that Lucas was justified in behaving as he now did. As much as they’d want it, they could not make time turn back on itself and undo what had been done.

Relations with Ros of course were even more glacial, if that was even possible. As far as Merlin was aware, Lucas and Harry were the only ones who even tried to put up with her, although Arthur and Ros seemed to have agreed to tolerate each other’s presence, again a result of the operation that had eventually led to Agravaine’s execution and Morgana’s death.

Merlin thought about the whole friendship thing and then changed his mind, because he himself had ended up in a strange kind of friendship with Jo Portman. He had gone over to London a few times to watch films, chat and acquaint himself better with the twenty-first century. He found he liked to spend time there and as long as George – and Arthur – didn’t mind that the other manservant was taking over his duties occasionally, he could keep up those visits. London was an interesting place, very different from Camelot, but intriguing. These visits often involved staying over for the night, which had given both Arthur and Ros very wrong ideas. And the more Merlin and Jo tried to deny them, the more insistent the king and Section Chief became about it.

‘You’re quiet, Merlin,’ Arthur observed. ‘Missing Jo again?’

‘No.’ Too defensive, he knew immediately. ‘I was thinking.’

Arthur’s face lit up in a manner that reminded the warlock all too much of Ros Myers about to come up with a sarcastic put-down. The king of Camelot had spent all too much time in her company during the joined operation if he was now copying her habits. ‘Well, don’t think too hard,’ he teased. ‘I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.’

Merlin grimaced, but he supposed he deserved that after having said the exact same thing to Arthur a few weeks ago after the Lamia incident. And how he wished they’d had Ros with them then. He had no doubt that the spy would just have shot the Lamia the moment she suspected something wasn’t right and to hell with the consequences.

‘Well, at least _I_ can think,’ he shot back. ‘Because I, unlike you, am not a dollophead.’

‘No, because you are a clotpole.’ Arthur had definitely gotten better at this whole insulting game.

‘That’s my word!’ Merlin protested.

‘And it suits you perfectly,’ the king finished with a smirk, winning this round of the game. But Merlin didn’t mind; he’d get back at him sooner rather than later.

And besides, he was far too glad that they were bantering again like they had done before, because not that long ago it had seemed like that part of their friendship – or their entire friendship, for that matter – had been lost forever. But Arthur had kept his word about having an open conversation and two days after the feast they had locked themselves into Arthur’s room for a lengthy discussion.

Merlin had been forced to confess a number of facts that he was not very proud of, Arthur had done an awful lot of shouting and, as time progressed, Merlin’s temper had gotten the better of him as well. There had been a great number of objects – far too much – that had ended up on the other side of the room as a result – and some of them, to Merlin’s great surprise, had been thrown by him – and by the end of the afternoon both king and servant had been rather hoarse, but the compromise was born and that more than made up for all the mess and the sore throat, in Merlin’s opinion.

They would keep his magic a secret for a while longer from everyone except Gwen – who had fortunately taken it rather well – and everyone who already knew about it anyway. Hopefully this would be a temporary thing, though, because Arthur was launching an experiment. He allowed the Druids to return to Camelot and abolished the death penalty for those who practised magic, with the exception that they could still be executed if their magic had endangered or threatened what Arthur now, in true spooks fashion, called national security. The normal punishment for practising magic was now a fine or a number of days in the dungeons, depending on how serious the magic had been.

It would be a test, Arthur had said, to see if magic truly could be used for good and not just for evil, as the king had seen for most of his life. Especially the return of the Druids, the only group of people who were now officially allowed to do magic – the announcement of this had made quite a number of noble jaws drop – was important for this. And Arthur needed the reassurance, because of his bad experiences with it. Merlin understood this, but he could not escape the feeling that this was not what he had really hoped for, although it was undoubtedly a step in the right direction. Fortunately he was allowed to use his magic to save Arthur’s backside and to do his chores, as long as he kept it out of sight, which was second nature to him anyway.

‘Well, being a dollophead is worse than being a clotpole,’ he shot back at Arthur, happy to continue the banter.

Arthur snorted. ‘And how would you know, _Mer_ lin?’

But this time he had a retort ready and there was no way he could see that the king could wriggle his way out of this one. ‘I invented the words,’ he pointed out with a brilliant smile.

And true to expectations Arthur Pendragon reacted with his best fish-on-dry-land imitation, temporary lost for words. It would not last long, Merlin knew, but for just a few minutes he had the pleasure of seeing his king search for a retort that would shut his servant well and truly up, but he came up with absolutely nothing.

But Arthur did not have the time to think of something. They had been distracted from their surroundings by their game of witticisms, the hunt all but forgotten, not that there would be much game left in this area after their loud voices had disturbed the peace. And that was a mistake, because Merlin should have known by now that nothing good ever came from a hunt. There was always something that went wrong, whether it were magical beasts, vengeful sorcerers or just plain old bandits.

Today it was the last category. A group of about a dozen bandits jumped out of the trees, crying wordless battle cries as they charged.

Merlin cursed, but did not lose his nerve. He had lived through too many attacks to start panicking in such situations. He could deal with this, especially now that he had Arthur’s permission to use his magic in the case of an emergency and this surely would count as one. So he threw his hand forward and flung three of their attackers backwards in one go, even as Arthur’s crossbow took out a fourth.

It had of course rather dented Arthur’s ego when he had first realised he had not killed quite as many bandits and magical creatures as he had previously thought, but Merlin believed him to be more or less over it now. And they did work well together. Merlin himself felt better too now he didn’t have to pretend to be the useless one any longer.

He had hardly finished that thought when something hard came into contact with the back of his head. The warlock only remembered that they had been surrounded and that he really ought to have watched his back a bit more when the ground already rushed up to meet him and his horse had somehow disappeared from under him.

He fell hard on the ground. Oh, he did not think he would have broken anything, but he would have a few nasty bruises if he came out of this again. And he had hit his head quite hard as well, so that for a few moments he was too confused to do anything. He didn’t think he could have done something anyway, because there were all kinds of stars swimming over his vision and it was far too difficult to see anything other than that.

But Arthur was still there, alone and heavily outnumbered. And although Arthur himself might hate it with a passion that he had a kind of glorified magical bodyguard, he had one and said glorified bodyguard was not allowed to sit back and do nothing while his protégé was in danger. And so he forced himself to see something, _anything_ at all, by sheer willpower.

True to expectations the king had gotten himself into quite a tight spot. He was surrounded by five bandits and, in true Arthurian fashion, was trying to fight all five of them at once. Arthur was quite possibly the best swordsman in all the five kingdoms, but even he was not invincible and could not hold out against five heavily armed bandits – why did they always have to be so heavily armed anyway? – indefinitely.

Merlin moaned in exasperation and forced himself to get to his feet to prevent anyone from killing off the king he had fought so hard to protect for years now, only to find that someone beat him to it.

The remaining bandits were flown through the air and landed on the ground. They did not get up again and Merlin might have believed them dead if he had not seen their chests rise and fall with their breathing. But at least the threat had been removed and that was what counted. And after having been on the receiving end of so many bandit attacks, he had quite lost the ability to feel sorry for them.

But who had done this? Both Merlin and Arthur turned their heads simultaneously to see to whom they owed that timely interference. The warlock saw a young man with a kind smile and dark hair underneath the trees at the edge of the clearing in which they had been ambushed. And Merlin’s heart stopped. He knew that face, even though it had been years since he had last seen it. But it was him, of that he was certain. And his presence here could not in any way bode well for Arthur or Camelot. _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget._

The king himself had recognised their rescuer as well and reacted with the same amount of shock as his servant, albeit for completely different reasons. ‘Mordred,’ he whispered.

 

***

 

It was just another day in the life of Ros Myers, Section Chief of Section D, MI-5. And that meant that she was busy trying to prevent some UN special negotiator by the name of Claude Denizet, an arrogant bastard who at some point during his life must be wrongfully informed that the world revolved around him, from getting a bullet embedded in his brain. What was unusual though was that Section D was supposed to keep him safe from an MI-6 renegade and that she had to give in to bloody blackmail to ensure a satisfactory outcome for most people involved. And everyone who knew her could tell that this turn of events did not put her in the best of moods.

And how had this even ended up being such a mess? Of course it had all started off with the Israelis and Palestinians being at each other’s throat again because of the umpteenth attack the one had launched on the other and the endless retaliations that followed such attacks. That had resulted in the emergency peace conference, here in London, that everyone with a tiny bit of common sense could tell right away was doomed to fail before it had even begun. But fine, if the Foreign Secretary wanted MI-5 to see to the safety of the participants, including the esspecially flown in UN negotiator who seemed to be under the impression that he was God’s gift to mankind, then that was okay with her. She would make sure no terrorists would bomb the place or would assassinate any of the delegates and they would be left to tear each other, preferably verbally, to shreds to their heart’s content.

She should have known by now that things had gone far too smoothly. Ros was just starting to feel pleased with how well it all went when Malcolm alerted her to the fact that some piece of highly classified military equipment was being sold on the internet. The seller was a kid of sixteen years old by the name of Dean Mitchell, living alone with his mother, who had absolutely no right to even know about such weaponry, never mind that he had it in his possession. Malcolm had named it an assassin’s best friend, the kind of gun you had to point at a moving vehicle and all the electronics would fail.

Ros had grown rather nervous at that, even though she would never be heard to admit to such a thing out loud.  But such a device did not coincidentally turn up in the public domain only days before a highly sensitive summit in the same city, especially not when aforementioned summit was trying to bring together two countries who were more likely remove the other from the face of the earth rather than to talk peace. Coincidence was up there with Santa Claus: it didn’t exist.

Angrily she sent Lucas to buy the thing back and sincerely hoped that was the end of it. Of course it wasn’t. In the following hours she learned that Dean Mitchell had stolen the thing from a rogue MI-6 operative Michael Sands, who had spent too many years in the Middle East and who was having a solution of his own in mind as to how this summit was to be successful, namely by killing Claude Denizet, whom the Palestinians apparently didn’t trust. Mr Sands had listened in to every single bloody phone call they made and had, so they learned, already used the weapon the kid had stolen to assassinate a photographer who had probably shot pictures of something he wasn’t supposed to see.

The truth of that assumption was proven when they found the cd with photos he had carried on his person. Unfortunately the cd was damaged and the files on it were only half complete, showing only the left part of the one picture Malcolm had been able to retrieve, which featured a very pissed off Claude Denizet.

Jo’s little trip to the hotel the pictures had been taken from and Malcolm’s unsurpassed skills in hacking into systems he wasn’t supposed to hack into made sure that they found out that the room Claude Denizet had been in had been booked by a Mr Michael Smith, also known as Sands.

‘Stephen Fitzmaurice was killed, because he witnessed Sands threatening Denizet,’ Ros realised.

It was Connie who asked the million dollar question. ‘So, why go after Dean Mitchell?’ Lucas had been on the run with the kid and his mother, because there was a hell of a lot more interest in that gun than was healthy for anyone. Her colleague was off the map, trying to keep a low profile while they worked out what to do. All this made Ros’s skin crawl and set her teeth on edge.

‘Because Dean Mitchell witnessed the assassination,’ Ros replied. Lucas had somehow gotten that information out of young Mr Mitchell and had alerted them to it. And then after witnessing a crime, he had been as stupid as to make off with the murder weapon, which he had then sold on the internet. Ros was torn between admiring him and thinking him the biggest fool to ever walk the earth. He had no idea what he had gotten into and just how far these people were willing to go.

‘But he couldn’t possibly know what it meant,’ Ben said. And he had a point with that. Because yes, the kid had witnessed a murder and stolen a gun, but this unhealthy interest in the kid’s living or dying was too exaggerated for just that. And Ros may not like Ben very much, but he was right.

 _I wish Harry was here_. The though sneaked into her head before she could stop it. But Harry had disappeared off to some meeting or other he didn’t want to tell her about, like he had done on regular intervals since the market bombings and Ros did not like it one bit. He usually told her everything and that he didn’t do so now was cause for serious – strictly professional of course – concern.

 _Stop wallowing, Myers!_ she snapped at herself. _Focus!_ She may not like the situation, but that didn’t mean she could slack in her duties. But she could not deny either that with both Harry and Lucas gone, she felt a bit forlorn.

She pressed the mental mute button on it and forced herself to start thinking. ‘Unless Dean Mitchell has something else we don’t know about, some other evidence,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘The full photograph,’ Connie realised and the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

It turned out that there had been a memory stick in the rucksack the gun had been in. The rucksack however had been dumped by the kid in some scrap yard, so Ros sent Lucas and Dean on a mission to retrieve it, which they did. They got the stick, only by the skin of their teeth, but they lost the mother, who got kidnapped by Michael Sands to pressure Ros, whom he had just threatened, to give up the kid.

By the time Ros finally laid eyes on the full photograph, including the Foreign Secretary in the ploy, she was ready to explode. The Foreign Secretary however proved to not know what Sands’s idea of a solution really was and seemed to think that he meant blackmail by reasonable pressure to get Denizet out of the way. Ros resisted the urge to snap at her that reasonable did not exist with people like Sands, who never thought the word solution without the word violent in front of it. The realisation was dawning on the Foreign Secretary now, but it was too late to call Sands off, even if she had known how to contact him.

 _Bloody politicians_. Lucas on the run with a kid, the kid’s mother taken hostage by Sands, Denizet about to be assassinated at the summit by way of a “permanent solution.” At least Harry was back on the Grid and between them they managed to work out a solution of their own. They saved Claude Denizet at the last possible second, forced him to resign – which he did not feel too uncomfortable about having just had a gun pointed at his head – and encrypted the memory stick again – so that no one would ever find out it had been opened in the first place – which Ros then returned to Sands in exchange for Sarah Mitchell, Dean’s mother. It was the best outcome she could have hoped for, but it still felt ridiculously like giving in and that did not sit well with her.

So the following morning she was waiting with Jo as Denizet pulled a very distressed looking Sarah out of the car. Ros would instantly admit that she was not the kindest woman to walk the earth, but the state of the kid’s mother made her want to throttle the man who had abducted her with her bare hands, if not for that, then for a number of other reasons.

‘Don’t try anything,’ Sands said. ‘I have guns pointed at her head from three different windows.’ Sarah whimpered at hearing that. Ros merely glared at the speaker, although he might not see that through the sunglasses she was wearing, put on especially for the purpose of keeping that man from reading her like a book.

Fortunately Jo, who was much better suited to deal with people, took care of the woman and guided her into the car, leaving only Sands and Ros to talk. She had no doubt that the guns he had mentioned would now be pointed at her head, but she could not care less. If he shot her, he would have Harry after him and that was a thing best avoided. _Although only heaven knows what Harry is after now_ , a voice in the back of her head commented. He had gone off to one of his mysterious meetings, again, and left Ros in charge. _What the hell is he up to?_

But this was neither the time nor the place. ‘Your road to peace proved to be somewhat unorthodox,’ she commented casually, suppressing the rage she felt. That would not help her here.

Sands seemed wholly unconcerned. ‘It seemed to achieve its goal,’ he said. ‘I understand Claude Denizet will resign later today.’

‘Well, a voluntary resignation,’ Ros pointed out, although it wasn’t entirely voluntary. But Sands didn’t need to know that and Ros was not in the mood to share any more information with him than she strictly needed to. ‘Slightly more elegant than a bullet in the brain.’

‘Without the threat of one, we would never have achieved the other,’ Sands countered. ‘It’s the Middle East way.’

This made all her alarm bells go off. This felt like a threat and even though protocol dictated that officers of the Service did not make decisions based on intuition, experience had taught her that dismissing intuition was often the most fatal mistake an officer could make. Dean was not safe, not yet, and they needed to get the boy out of the country as soon as possible.

‘You’re taking credit for this?’ She had to work hard not to snap.

‘We should both take credit for this.’ The bloody man was even smiling. ‘The perfect team.’ The worst thing about this was that he was completely sincere. He really meant what he said. _Narcissist, violent dreamer_ , Harry had called him. It seemed to sum Sands up to perfection.

The Section Chief was tempted to vomit on his shoes. ‘Well, much as the idea _thrills_ me, I think our business is done,’ she said dismissively. If she couldn’t strangle him, she at least wanted him gone, preferably before he could make good on that unspoken threat to kill Dean Mitchell anyway. He had shown his intent towards the kid more than enough when he sent hit squad after hit squad after Dean and Lucas. Thank goodness her colleague was such an expert in the field or this may have ended very differently.

‘A pleasure working with you, officer Myers.’ He walked back to his own car and then turned just as he was about to get in. ‘We’ve always been absolutely honest with each other, haven’t we?’

He got in the car and drove away as the dread settled comfortably in Ros’s stomach. _He knows. He knows he’s been lied to._

Strangely enough this also reminded her also of Harry’s strange behaviour of late. He had not been completely honest either, had evaded her questions about what meetings he was going to, about why he disappeared at the most inopportune moments. Her resolve strengthened. As soon as they got Sarah and Dean Mitchell out of the country, she would take Lucas with her to her boss’s office and demand some answers.

Her sense of dread was proven right, but in the most disastrous way possible. Dean Mitchell was shot as he was struggling with Lucas, because he didn’t want to leave a country and had tried to make a run for it. Ros tried to block out his mother’s keening wails as she gathered her son’s dead body up in her arms, trying to look anywhere but there. She had failed and she knew it.

So, she did what she did best. She glanced around the station from they had been meaning to make the small family take a train towards the airport and from there out of Britain. Her gaze lingered on the escalator across the hall, where a very familiar figure was standing with a bag on his shoulder that could contain only one thing. _Michael bloody Sands_. He turned around and then nodded at her respectfully. Ros’s fists clenched in frustration, knowing he’d be long gone by the time she’d get where he was now. She might never even get to him.

This needn’t have happened if she had gotten a hold of Harry. She’d have been more comfortable if they’d had some security people to help out, given the fact that Sands was still after the boy, but Harry had not been able to authorise it because he had gone off to God only knows where and she hadn’t dared to take the risk of waiting any longer, choosing speed over safety. Dean had paid the price for that. _Where the hell is Harry?_

Lucas came to stand next to her. He looked devastated, even though he tried to hide it and Ros suspected he had come closer to this operation than he should have. But she was not going to comment on it when she herself may have been guilty of doing just that. And they would need to focus on what was the matter with their boss. The way he’d been acting led her to believe that he was in deep trouble somehow.

‘What do we do now, boss?’ he asked softly as the medics and police people started to flood the place. Ros had the good grace not to notice the somewhat forlorn expression on his face he was trying his hardest not to show.

 _Find Sands, kill him and then move on_. She should have known better than to trust a man who did not believe in peaceful solutions. Someone had to die and Dean Mitchell had been the victim, simply because he knew too much. It happened all the time in their job, but that boy had not been in this line of work. Even for all his thieving and lying, he had been an innocent. Ros knew people who deserved death, but this kid had not been one of them.

She suppressed the by now very strong urge to go after Sands and turned to Lucas. Their job was done now anyway. ‘We are going to Harry,’ she told him. ‘And we’re going to get some answers.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an introduction chapter this was, really, but hopefully it sets the tone for the rest. I am not sure when the next chapter will be up, because the next four weeks will be rather busy, but I’ll try not to make you wait too long. And yes, just for the story's sake, Harry has not yet briefed Ros and Lucas on Sugarhorse.  
> In the meantime, please review? I’d love to hear your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Ros reminded him of a soldier marching for battle, Lucas observed as they crossed the Grid to Harry’s office. The Section Chief was taking long, decisive strides and she had the unyielding facial expression to match. And she would be right to feel this angry. He himself could all too vividly recall the sight of Dean Mitchell’s body in the lift. Heaven knew the kid had been cocky, annoying and suffering from an extreme case of almost criminal stupidity, but he had not deserved this. And he had cared about his mother, deeply so. The outcome of this situation was in no way satisfactory.

And Ros took it even harder than he, but that was because she believed herself to be responsible for the kid. Michael Sands had killed someone she believed herself to be responsible for and that, as the Senior Case Officer knew all too well, was something he would strongly advise against. He recalled just how angry she had looked when Morgana had harmed him. She had pulled the trigger with an expression of icy hatred and loathing on her face, watching with a grim satisfaction as the witch fell.

‘Lucas, keep up, will you?’ Ros’s annoyed voice called him back to the here and now and he took some bigger steps to catch up to her. She was still mad, but not just at Michael Sands. A large part was reserved for Harry and his mysterious disappearances that had begun during the Al Qaeda operation that had led eventually to the market bombing. Or, more specifically, these strange meetings had started after Lucas had told him he remembered the Russians had interrogated him about an operation codenamed Sugarhorse. Harry at first had denied it, but had then asked him to remember what had happened at the time that it was mentioned.

His fists clenched of their own volition. Harry had no idea what had been done to him at that time. He had not even asked, so Lucas assumed that he had no interest in knowing. And that, along with his refusal to not tell him what this Sugarhorse even was, had been sufficient to destroy most of the trust that had slowly begun to grow again after the conclusion of Operation Camelot, as Ros had mockingly dubbed it. Something was wrong and Harry was in some kind of trouble, that he was certain of. What he was not so certain of was if he had any faith left in his boss. These days he avoided Harry’s office if he could and took his reports to Ros.

He had not dared to discuss Sugarhorse with her, especially not in relation to Harry’s many off comms disappearances lately, not even now they were friends, but Ros had not ended up being where she was by being stupid. She was intelligent and would have worked out quite a lot herself. But it was not like her to distrust Harry or question his actions. Unlike Lucas, Ros’s faith in Harry was absolute and she would only ever question him when something serious forced her into this, like the death of Dean Mitchell.

She forcefully slid the door open and beckoned Lucas to follow her. ‘Where the hell were you?’ she demanded, not bothering with a greeting of any kind.

Harry had been studying some file in front of him. ‘Are you familiar with the concept of knocking, Rosalind?’ he retorted, half-weary, because by now he should know that no one in this section ever bothered with it. It didn’t stop him from commenting on it regularly, though.

Ros, as expected, ignored him. ‘Where the bloody hell were you today?’ she snarled at the boss. She had lost someone she felt had been her responsibility for today and she laid the blame at Harry’s doorstep, not quite unjustly, Lucas realised. He himself would have been more at ease if there were at least some security people around, but they had not been able to, so they had intended to make the reunion brief and get mother and son on a train quickly as possible. Just how well that had gone, was obvious.

‘Sit down,’ Harry said. He still sounded weary and it started to dawn on Lucas that his fatigue might not be the result of Ros’s lack of knocking habits.

Ros had no intention of obeying. ‘Dean Mitchell is dead,’ she reported brusquely. She didn’t go as far as to accuse Harry that he might still be alive if she could have gotten her hands on some security people, but she didn’t need to. Harry was as skilled in reading between lines as they all were.

‘Sit down, Rosalind,’ Harry repeated. There was a tone of annoyance underneath the weariness and Lucas thought it better to obey, to give the good example. He did not think Ros would follow it however.

To be honest, he was not sure what he was doing here. On the rare occasion that Ros Myers had a bone to pick with Harry, she did it behind closed, soundproof doors and without witnesses. This was a hell of a change from her usual behaviour and he was not sure he understood it.

And he was not sure either that he even wanted to be here. Harry and Ros seemed to be preparing for the shouting match of the century and he for one was none too anxious to get caught in the fallout. Yes, he wanted to know what was going on and if it was in some way related to the mysterious Sugarhorse, but another part of him just wanted to take himself home to get some much needed rest. Heaven knew he felt like he needed it after the events of hardly two hours ago. Dealing with Harry’s strange behaviour was not high on his to-do list right now. He felt at least as tired as his boss sounded and in his current mood he did not think himself able to handle the bitter truth of Harry having lied to him again. Yes, he had admitted that he had not told Lucas the truth about Sugarhorse, but he still had failed to mention what it was and that was something that had not escaped Lucas’s notice.

‘I don’t want to sit down!’ Ros snapped. ‘I want answers. You’ve been pulling disappearing acts on us ever since the sodding Al Qaeda operation and I want to know why.’ The tone was copied from Harry, Lucas knew. It was his non-negotiable voice. Ros must have been hanging around him for too long.

Harry’s eyes sparkled in an anger that drove the exhaustion away so fast that if he’d have blinked, he would have missed out on it. ‘Then you’ll have to sit down, Rosalind,’ he snapped, slamming a fist on the desk for good measure.

For a moment it looked like Ros was just going to ignore that order, as was her way, but she changed her mind and took a chair, still with a face that spelled trouble for whoever it was directed at. Lucas was glad it wasn’t him this time. The Section Chief folded her arms over her chest and silently demanded that Harry started to explain himself. Had she not been this mad, she would probably have realised she was crossing more lines than her colleague cared to count.

But Harry did not seem to be overly bothered by it and this was a surprise. Things must be bad if he behaved in such a way. Lucas may not be Harry’s biggest fan right now, but there was still that stupid and irrational part of him that craved Harry’s trust almost over everything else. Part of him wanted the head of Section D to confide in him, the way he had done before Russia.

Harry leaned slightly forward and folded his hands. ‘Years ago,’ he began. ‘As the Berlin wall was collapsing, Richard Dolby, Hugo Prince and I conceived the most complex network of spies ever to have infiltrated the Russian political system.’ Lucas recognised the names. Richard Dolby seemed to have made it his personal responsibility to thwart Section D or, more specifically, Ros at every turn. Hugo Prince was a spy legend, who had died sometime while Lucas had been a special guest of the FSB. From what he had heard, the man had been a highly skilled spy. So had Dolby been in his day. And Harry, Lucas may not trust him, but he knew better than to doubt his spying skills.

 _Sugarhorse_ , a voice in the back of his head whispered. _He’s talking about Sugarhorse_. He had to be, because that seemed to be the link for everything.

He meant to ask, hardly capable of holding back the question, but Harry was in full briefing mode now. Lucas doubted he would have heard him even if he had asked. ‘We recruited young, pro-western minds in all areas with one aim: to ensure that in twenty years we had moles at the very highest levels of Russian life, moles who could limit or destroy the Russian nuclear threat.’

It sounded like an impossibility to Lucas. A sleeper network of so many spies, capable of doing such damage… It would have to be huge, the biggest operation MI-5 had ever launched. He could not even begin to think how highly classified such an operation would have to be. At any rate it would be way past his clearance level, and even past Ros’s as well.

‘We have that capability,’ Harry announced. ‘Operation Sugarhorse, which has remained entirely uncompromised…’

Only that it hadn’t. If it had remained uncompromised, then there would have been no way that the FSB would questioned him about the Sugarhorse operation. ‘Until I told you that the Russians had interrogated me about it,’ he finished.

The true implications only slowly started seeping through his brain. Because if the Russians had known about Sugarhorse, they were unlikely to have found out about it all by themselves. Sugarhorse must have been as highly classified as possibly could. The FSB would not have access to such a thing, not even for all their clever tricks. They could only have found out if someone had told them, someone who was working with MI-5. A traitor.

The bile was rising up in his throat and he was fighting the urge to throw up. Because this could also mean that his capture in Moscow was not such a coincidence as he had believed at the time. And maybe he had just wanted to believe it, because the alternative was too horrible. Now it was something he would have to reckon with. Someone on his own side had sold him out, had made him go through eight solid years of isolation and torture. Someone on his own side had deliberately betrayed him.

On the other hand this was a relief as well. He may not have been willing to contemplate the thought of being sold out, but he had done it anyway and Harry’s name had popped up more than once in the category of possible candidates. The feeling had only been enforced by the isolation. It had not helped the case that Harry had not appeared to be taking much trouble to get his officer out. _Harry sweated blood to get you back here. Colleagues are okay_. It had become something of a personal mantra, even if he had not always been convinced of the truth of it. In a way he was now, because Harry would never have sold him out to the Russians if it endangered such a sensitive operation, not unless he was a traitor himself and that was something he would never believe, not of Harry Pearce.

The relief washed over him even as the dread settled comfortably in his stomach, because someone _had_ sold him out, someone he would have trusted to be on his side. He could only just stop himself from vomiting on the spot. Ros would never let him live it down, even if he would live up to her expectations of friends being annoying. Throwing up would certainly annoy her.

His mind was going round, not coming up with anything even remotely useful. He blamed the exhaustion.

Harry however did not seem to have noticed Lucas’s inner turmoil. ‘Yes,’ he nodded. He sounded compassionate and Lucas forced himself back under control. If there was one thing he could not deal with, it was pity. Heaven knew he had already been treated like a porcelain doll after the Camelot operation more than enough. He hardly needed to give Harry a reason to make it ten times worse. ‘And I didn’t know how the Russians knew about Sugarhorse until now. I am waiting for intel from Moscow, which I should receive in the next couple of days. This will allow me to expose a mole within MI-5.’ A traitor, but even Harry seemed loath to use the word. ‘When I expose the mole, all hell will break loose, both here and in Russia.’ He looked from Lucas to Ros and back again. ‘I’ll need both your support.’ Harry Pearce didn’t do begging, but this was as close as he would ever come to it. It was a plea for help. It was spoken in stiff and almost formal words, but it was a plea nonetheless. He must be deeper in trouble because of this than Lucas had realised.

‘Anything you need, Harry,’ he heard himself say and he found that he meant it. There was a part that still wanted his boss’s approval, although that had somewhat lessened after Harry’s initial denial about Sugarhorse. But it was still there. It was not the main reason for speaking as he did, though. Because this was personal. Now that he knew almost for sure that someone had betrayed him to the FSB, leading to his eight years in hell, he wanted, _needed_ , to know who it was and when he did know, he wanted to see them punished, preferably by his own hand, if Harry had left anything for him, that was.

‘Anything at all,’ Ros chimed in softly. She had been silent for the duration of the briefing, which was very unlike her, especially after her verbal explosion of hardly a few minutes ago. Lucas looked to the side only to see that she had gone pale and still, even though her eyes were still on full alert. He would not pretend to fully know his Section Chief – he doubted anyone ever truly could know all of Ros Myers – but he had come to know her better than most on the Grid in the past few months. It would be a safe bet to say that she regretted her harsh words, even though she would never be heard to say such a thing. Ros didn’t do apologising, ever.

Harry seemed relieved. ‘Thank you.’ The words sounded as if they came right from the heart, something that was not standard Pearce practise as far as Lucas was aware. ‘Thank you both.’

It was both a thanks and a dismissal and Lucas knew not to push the point. He could not have pushed it even if he wanted to. His mind had descended into chaos and he was too tired and too shocked to bring any form of order back into it. So he just nodded, got up and walked out of the office with every intention of getting a takeaway, going home and hoping to find some sleep if he could.

Ros exited after him, sliding the door shut behind her. ‘Next time you tell me,’ she ordered. She had not cooled down, not in the slightest, but there was something there that might be bordering on concern.

He managed a nod. God knew it had been hard enough to keep silent about it for two solid months, to have no one to talk to. ‘Promise,’ he said.

Ros favoured him with a glare. ‘You’d better. Now, how about a decent takeaway?’

The Senior Case Officer felt the corners of his mouth curl up. As much as he would like the rest, he liked the prospect of company more, especially after recent events. His own thoughts would not be making for pleasurable company, not tonight. And Ros could be good company if the mood took her. ‘Aren’t you afraid I will annoy you?’

She snorted. ‘I have been reliably informed that’s what friends are for.’

 

***

 

‘No.’

The result was an indignant sputtering coming from the other end of the room. ‘Arthur, will you _please_ listen to me?’ Merlin sounded almost desperate, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. ‘You do not understand what you are talking about.’

Arthur, who had been picking up his sword before he went off to the training field, now had to suppress the urge, the rather strong urge, to haul the weapon in his servant’s direction. He valued his friendship with the clumsy warlock – _not_ a sorcerer, as Merlin had pointed out on several occasions – but that paranoia of his he could have done without. ‘Merlin, are you deaf?’ he inquired. ‘I believe I told you that I do not want to hear these accusations.’

It was one of those days that he should really have stayed in bed. Things were only going from bad to worse and this argument with his servant-slash-glorified-self-appointed-magical- bodyguard was just the last straw. It was bad enough that Guinevere had business out of town, business that for some reason took two entire weeks to conclude. Of course it was not her aunt’s fault that she had been taken ill and it was perfectly logical for Guinevere to go and tend to her, but that did mean he would have to make do without her for two solid weeks, not a prospect he liked much. Then this day had begun with disaster. Merlin had tripped over his own feet, effectively assuring that the juice he had been about to serve did not end up in Arthur’s mouth, but rather all over his face. Next he had forgotten to heat the bath water and then Lord Harold had come charging in with a long and altogether boring complaint about the noise the repairs of the roof above his head were making. Arthur had sent him away with a snapped remark of which Ros and Harry would have approved, reminding the man that if he wanted a roof over his head at all, he should let those men do their job or else he was welcome to get soaked in the first rain. It may even be that the word bloody had slipped into the speech.

In the midst of it all he had almost missed out on his servant’s gloomy mood, almost. And since they were friends, he supposed he could ask what was the matter. He now started to wish – passionately – that he had not done so.

‘For once in your life, could you just listen to me?’ the warlock cried in exasperation.

But Arthur had no intention whatsoever of listening. ‘No, Merlin, I will not,’ he said forcefully as he rounded on him. ‘How many times are we going to have this discussion? I told you that you can’t just accuse people of treason. You have been wrong before.’

‘As have you,’ Merlin countered. It was a clear sign that he was angry, because normally he would not have used such a tone of voice with Arthur. But this was rapidly descending into a full-blown argument, the likes of which they’d not had since they had disagreed about Lucas’s loyalties. Strangely enough they were now torn over the exact same subject, albeit it concerned a different person this time.

‘Mordred has not done one single thing to deserve your low opinion.’ Arthur knew his voice was dangerously low and had he been talking to anyone else, they would have run from this room already. Unfortunately Merlin was not anyone else. He was the clumsy servant who remained wholly unimpressed in the face of Arthur’s foulest moods. Normally the king admired him for that, but not today.

‘He is dangerous, Arthur.’ Merlin was close to pleading.

And that was something that the king of Camelot did not understand. Yes, Merlin was as paranoid as they came apparently, but in Lucas’s case he’d actually had some ground for his accusations, wrong though they had been. He had not been the only one to suspect that the spook had joined Morgana’s side then and Lucas’s behaviour had been dubious, even though Arthur was still of the opinion that if they had paid more attention, anyone could have realised that Lucas was as likely to betray his colleagues as Arthur was to ever dress up in skirts.

This, this was something else entirely and Arthur could not lay his finger on it. Merlin had reacted with hostility the moment he had recognised Mordred as their rescuer. Arthur on the other hand had reacted with surprise, but with joy as well. He remembered the small boy he had once rescued from his father’s dungeons straight away. The boy had grown up and was now a young lad, who had saved his life.

He had urged Mordred to come with him to Camelot, seeing as the Druid did not have a real place to live. The Druids he had stayed with previously had been killed in a bandit attack some weeks ago and he had been the sole survivor. The lad had been wandering around ever since. So Arthur had taken him in. It was the right thing to do and the king felt somewhat responsible for him, especially after he had been the one to help him escape all those years ago. Besides, Mordred was a skilled swordsman and well on his way to become a good knight of Camelot.

Of course, if he were to be really honest, it was the lad’s magic that really intrigued him. Apart from Merlin Arthur had never met anyone who used his magical powers for good and Mordred had used his to save them from what at the time appeared to be certain death. He liked to know more about the way magic worked and if it could truly be used for more than just evil and by other people than just Merlin.

Mordred was only happy to oblige and had answered Arthur’s every question patiently. He seemed to enjoy life in Camelot and he was very popular with both knights and servants, with one alarming exception: Merlin. His servant had been taciturn and unsociable to the young man and Arthur could not figure out why that was for the life of him. It simply did not make sense. Merlin liked everyone as long as they did not give him a reason to dislike them. This kind of behaviour was out of character. Good grief, it had been Merlin who had first saved Mordred, before Arthur had even become involved. This simply refused to make sense and he had just about enough of it.

‘So are you!’ he shot back. ‘So is Gwaine and Elyan and Leon. So is every knight in Camelot. It doesn’t mean they are a danger to each other or to me!’ He was getting impatient with it all. ‘Merlin, really, he’s a sorcerer just like you. I’d have expected you to get along with him, not to treat him like he has some kind of contagious disease!’ He was severely tempted to throw his hands into the air in exasperation. ‘What is the matter with you? He’s using his magic for good! Wasn’t that what you had been hoping for all along?’ He shook his head, not giving the warlock a chance to react, which the other man had visibly been planning on. ‘Tread very carefully here, Merlin,’ he warned. ‘You have been known to be wrong before.’ And it had almost cost Lucas his life. He was loath to be in such a position again.

Merlin’s eyes sparked with rage. ‘So have you been!’ he shot back.

The last thing Arthur wanted now was to be reminded of Agravaine’s treason, so in true Arthurian tradition he ignored it. ‘Why are you like this with Mordred?’ he demanded, forcefully closing the door on memories of his uncle.

The shutters came down. ‘I just know he’s not good for you.’

There had to be more. Arthur was on the verge of losing his temper entirely, but he could hold himself back only just in time. Because there was something Merlin was not telling him; he knew that expression on his face. _I just know_ was not nearly good enough as an explanation. ‘Merlin…’ he said in his most warning voice.

‘You’re not going to like this,’ Merlin warned him, still clearly hoping he would be able to escape this with all his limbs in their proper places. He was acting as if he was about to say something that would make Arthur explode. And that did not do very much to calm the king’s nerves or temper.

‘Out with it!’ he ordered.

He was slowly rebuilding the friendship they’d once had, but it was a long and slow process. Arthur’s faith in Merlin had been all but destroyed during the events that eventually had led to Morgana’s death and there had been some moments that he seriously doubted that their friendship would ever recover from the blow that it had been dealt. In the worst moments he had even come to doubt if he even _wanted_ their friendship to recover from this.

But they were rebuilding it and that was what really counted now, Arthur believed. But he still didn’t agree with everything Merlin said and did and that was sometimes putting at risk all the progress they’d made in weeks. This was one such occasion.

‘It’s prophecy.’ The words came out too fast and too soft.

Arthur caught them nonetheless and it sent his blood to boiling point. ‘Prophecy?’ he exclaimed. ‘Would that be the same kind of prophecy that predicted you would be the one to kill Morgana?’ He had learned to be extremely cautious where things like prophecies were concerned. Thy were self-fulfilling more often than not and even if they were coming true without everyone helping them come true, then it could turn out very different from what everyone had expected. Because when Arthur had first heard that Merlin was supposed to be Morgana’s doom, he had expected that this meant that Merlin would be the one to kill her. Instead Merlin had distracted Morgana to such an extent that Ros Myers got the chance to fire the bullet that had ended his half-sister’s life. That was the very nature of a prophecy. And that Merlin seemed to have forgotten this, that did not only hurt, but it also made him effectively lose whatever was left of his patience.

‘Don’t you dare.’ He all but snarled the words. ‘How can you possibly think to know how prophecy will work out when it didn’t exactly go according to plan last time we dealt with it?’

Merlin looked lost for words, but unfortunately that did not last longer than a second. ‘Well, I think there’s not much not to understand about this, Arthur. The dragon said that there would be an alliance between Mordred and Morgana, _united in evil_.’

Arthur frowned. ‘The dragon said? Would that be the same dragon who burned half the city perhaps? And Morgana is _gone_ , Merlin. There’s no chance that they can be in an alliance. Don’t you see?’ He almost had thrown in a _bloody_ again to emphasise his point, but that was something better saved for London. As it was, the local nobility was more likely to get a heart attack and he should teach himself not to use it as much as Ros Myers, although, he pondered, it would be quite hard to use the word more than she did.

For another moment Merlin was speechless and Arthur took the opportunity this presented. ‘You will not say another word against him.’ Mordred had been the most loyal soul in Camelot since the day he stepped foot in it. He simply refused to believe that he was plotting treason and murder, just because of some prophecy that had been thwarted before it could even begin to unfold. Innocent until proven guilty. Mordred was a very long way of being proven guilty of anything, treason least of all. ‘Merlin, that is an order,’ he added sharply to pre-empt the protest he knew would be coming from his servant if he did not stop it. ‘We will not discuss this again.’ He hated this conversation, hated the need for it. When had Merlin become so paranoid and how come he had never noticed it before?

He shook his head as Merlin gathered up the clothes that needed washing and exited the room without another word. What he needed, what they both needed, was some time away from Camelot. Arthur thought he knew the perfect destination. It had been quite some time since he spent time in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, they’ll meet again soon enough. Anyway, I hope you liked it. I’m not too sure about how good the first part is, but I can’t seem to be making more of it. Please review?


	3. Chapter 3

Lucas woke around three in the morning, screaming. It took him some time to realise that he was no longer in Russia, that there was no prison and that torture was not one of the things that was planned for him in the foreseeable future. This realisation did help some to calm his racing heart, but not much. The memory of the dream was still too fresh.

He tried to ban it to the back of his mind, to make it blend in with all the other nightmares already residing there, but the details refused to fade away and he could still see the interrogation room the moment he closed his eyes, could hear the interrogator’s voice barking questions at him while she was having a smoke, even as her victim was all but drowning, and begging for mercy when he was not.

He took a deep breath and switched on the light that revealed his bedroom. There was not much furniture in it, just the bed, the bedside table and the wardrobe. Still, it was as different from Russian prison as it could possibly be and that in itself was all the reassurance he needed. He was safely in his own flat – because this, he knew, would never be anywhere even approaching home for him – and in no danger of being thrown in any kind of prison anytime soon.

He turned onto his back and studied the ceiling. He was not actively trying to remember the dream, but it came back to him all the same. Not surprisingly he had revisited the interrogation about Sugarhorse again. Lately, ever since Harry had told him about it three days ago, it had never been far from his mind. Whoever it was that had betrayed the existence of Sugarhorse to the Russians, they had sold him out as well and that was not something he was in danger of forgetting anytime soon.

There was one consolation, though. This traitor knew of the existence of Sugarhorse, but was clearly not briefed on the names of the assets that belonged to the network, otherwise those assets would long since have been killed and the FSB wouldn’t have needed to try and get the names of its assets out of him. If he remembered correctly, they had asked him about names of his assets a lot, but since there had only been the one he had gone to Moscow to meet, he had not much to give them, even if he had felt inclined to give up that one name. He had not done so, because it felt like a defeat for him and a victory for the FSB. He was none too anxious to hand it to them on the sodding silver platter. Only after his release had he learned that his asset had been dead for eight years already; killed in a hit and run that had the FSB’s fingerprints all over it.

He caught himself sliding into what Ros would disdainfully call sentimentality and gave himself a mental kick in the behind to stop himself from going there. Wallowing in memories and self-pity would not get him anywhere and it certainly would not bring him closer to working out who the traitor was. There was not much of a chance of that anyway, not with the limited information he had access to.

It had not stopped Ros and him from trying to piece together what they knew anyway over the takeaway, but it was hopeless. He felt like a toddler trying to complete a puzzle of a thousand pieces when he did not even have the example available to tell him what the picture was supposed to look like. And it frustrated his new friend as well; that he had been able to make out from her furious sotto voce stream of curses. But Ros was not the kind of person to let this one go, not when she believed one of her colleagues was in trouble. The Section Chief, he pondered, was taking the definition of loyalty to whole new levels. Harry was almost a father figure to the Section Chief, even if Ros would forcefully deny it when called on it. _Families only mess with your head_ , would her response be.

And friends only annoyed you. That was something they had also agreed on, but yet they seemed to be doing well as friends. Maybe it was because they were also colleagues and they were okay.

But not all of them. That part they’d had to delete when Harry revealed that they were dealing with a yet unknown mole in MI-5 itself, someone who had gotten all too close to the Russians. Having been subjected to the FSB’s fabled hospitality himself for quite some time, Lucas could not even begin to understand why anyone in his senses would do that.

He was pondering this as his phone started to chirrup and it was almost an automatic reaction to reach out and take the device in hand. Spooks instinct, probably. Every phone call could mean some important information coming in and years of experience in the security service meant that he had long since learned that nightly phone calls never were to convey good news.

He pressed the button and was about to mutter his name into the phone, but someone beat him to it. ‘Lucas,’ someone said.

It took Lucas less than half a second to realise that it was his boss who was talking to him. ‘Harry.’ He had to work hard not to let it come out as a question. The Section Head sounded weary and on edge, which was never a good combination, but his voice was steady. ‘What’s the matter?’ He was already next to his bed, fishing for clothes that he could wear. This was not the first time he was called to Thames House in the middle of the night and it was bound not to be the last time either. And since a call from Harry at such a time could really only mean one thing, he decided to pre-empt the spoken red-flash and just get straight to the point.

Which was why he was so surprised when those were not Harry’s next words. ‘Look in your bedside drawer.’ The tension was better audible now.

Lucas frowned before he could even begin to stop himself from doing so. But he knew better than to ask questions. Harry was likely enough to explain it eventually and so he did as he was told, collecting a large envelop from the place Harry had mentioned, casually wondering when exactly Harry had been in his flat and why he had left this in his house.

‘I’m being set up,’ his boss said as Lucas examined the contents of the envelop. ‘We’ve got a mole in Section D. I need you to meet a contact in Moscow, Maria Korachevsky.’ He spoke as if this was just an ordinary briefing. It would have been, were it not for the fact that Harry was obviously on edge and the fact that he had just ordered Lucas to revisit the land of his nightmares.

Because that was what was asked of him here. At the very mention of Moscow he had frozen in mid-motion and an icy chill had spread down his spine. He had to stop himself from vomiting on the very spot. Moscow was the place where he had been taken by the FSB before and if they truly had a traitor in Section D itself, who was to say he would not be subjecting himself to a repeat performance?

Because this was a shock. Lucas had believed that it was someone in MI-5 who had betrayed Sugarhorse and him, someone whose face he might know, but didn’t know personally. For some reason it would be so much easier if it was someone he didn’t know, because it would hurt less if it was just some unknown face who had treated him, someone they didn’t know at all, like a means to their end. Section D he knew, very well in some cases. And the very thought that someone he had considered a good colleague had not only been able to betray the biggest security operation, but who also had no scruples about sentencing one of their own to the minimalist charms of Russian prison, it made bile rise in his throat.

It couldn’t be Harry, of that he was certain. After all, why would he set himself up? That did not make any sense at all. Lucas briefly considered involvement of Richard Dolby, but dismissed that thought almost right away. Dolby was not technically in Section D and although it would be just too easy to pin blame on him because of his own dislike of the man, he had nothing to gain from betraying an operation he had invested in so much in the first place. Jo and Ben did not even count as candidates in his opinion. Both were too young, too new in the service to be the guilty ones. That left only a handful of others, because the desk spooks did not really count in his opinion. None of them would ever have had access to such sensitive information.

And that really only left Malcolm, Connie and Ros. Malcolm had been in the service seemingly forever. He had been there when Lucas joined and had become one of the first friends he’d made there. No, the very thought of Malcolm – civilised, gentlemanly Malcolm – being in league with the Russians was nothing short of ridiculous. The only interest Malcolm had in Russia was the technology they had developed, because their ancient bugs made for such a nice addition to his collection.

The idea of Connie being a Russian mole was equally absurd. The intelligence analyst was positively paranoid when the FSB – which she stubbornly kept calling the KGB – came into the picture. No matter what happened, the elderly woman always was convinced that the FSB was to blame for the crisis. For someone with such hatred of all things Russian to be the traitor, that seemed impossible too.

And that only left Ros, someone Lucas did not even want to consider at all. She had been in Six when he had joined Five. Her transfer to Section D had happened only a few years ago, but Ros excelled in ferretting things out she was not supposed to know _and_ she had recently spent some months in Moscow. He _had_ to consider it.

 _No, you don’t_. He stopped himself before he could go any further with this. Ros was loyal to a fault. Work was all she had. She was too much like him. She would never sell out one of her team, no matter what else she may have done. And Harry had trusted her enough to brief her about Sugarhorse. If he trusted her, then Lucas should too. Friends may be annoying and a downright nuisance, but they were okay as well.

Still, one of those three must be the one who was acting differently than they really were. Lucas pushed the thought to the back of his head. It was not something he wanted to consider now.

Harry interpreted his silence the wrong way. ‘I’m sorry, Lucas.’ There was paternal concern in his voice again, and only a fool would miss out on it. Yes, Harry hated the very need for asking this. ‘By the time you get there, she will have all the information we need to pinpoint the mole.’

This forced his thoughts back to the unwelcome realisation that he was nothing short of forced to return to his very own hell. But he had made a promise. _Anything you need, Harry_. And if he did this, he would get to the person who had condemned him to that hell. As much as he didn’t want to know, he _needed_ to. And that was the personal element, but in essence this was also a matter of national security and it was in his job description that he guarded that.

‘I’m on my way,’ he said, picking up a ring with a blue stone from the things that had been in the envelop. There was no real choice, this needed to be done. And that ring was the token he might need to give to this Maria Korachevsky, a woman whose name he had never even heard before. Would she be a Sugarhorse asset?

He could almost hear Harry’s nod down the phone line, even if it wasn’t spoken. ‘One more thing. When you see Maria, tell her I’m sorry it took this for me to get in touch.’ There was obvious regret audible, something that Harry Pearce wasn’t known to do very often. ‘She’ll understand.’ The line was disconnected before Lucas could reply.

He allowed himself half a minute to catch his breath before he forced himself to get up and get dressed. From the moment Harry had told him he had to go to Moscow he was on an operation and he could not afford the sentimentality and the fear to cloud his mind and his judgement. Personal matters aside, Harry must be in deep trouble and if he was truly being set up, then this was more urgent than he had realised at first. He could not afford to dawdle and let Harry take the blame for something he did not do. Harry had not been the one to sell him out and he had moved heaven and earth – even going as far as to command a legendary king – to get him back when Morgana had taken him. He owed him a favour and quite possibly more than one too.

The thought of Arthur reminded him that he was coming to visit in a few hours’ time. His disappearance would be discovered within approximately six hours, but by then he hoped to be out of the country. Arthur would report it to Ros, he imagined. Those two were not exactly friends, but they did not dislike one another either. They tolerated one another and were allies when a situation asked for it.

Ros still was a candidate for treason, he knew, but his mind refused to believe it. Ros had stood by him when even Harry had doubted him. If Malcolm or Connie turned out to be the mole, he would still think it highly unlikely and downright bloody ridiculous, but he would be able to accept it, God help him. But accepting that Ros had betrayed her team, no, that never. Yes, she had been guilty of betrayal before, but she had never meant for any of her team to get hurt, because that was the one thing the Section Chief could never stand for. It was just not the same.

Praying that he was not making the biggest mistake of his life, he took a leap of faith and scribbled down a few words. Then he grabbed the few things he would need for the operation, left the flat and firmly closed the door behind him.

 

***

 

It was pouring when their small group set out from Camelot and by the time they reached the portal Merlin was quite convinced that he might never even get dry again. It didn’t help his mood along that Arthur for some reason that was quite beyond his comprehension had decided to take Mordred along for the visit. The king had muttered some unintelligible explanation of Mordred never having been to London yet. Apparently he thought it would be a good experience for the young man.

Quite frankly it was rather alarming how much time Mordred spent in Arthur’s company and how much the king seemed to enjoy the Druid boy’s presence. He kept asking him questions about magic and the people who used it, questions, Merlin felt, that should have been asked of him instead of Mordred. He had known the king for a very long time now, so why did he turn to someone who he hardly knew at all? Yes, Mordred had saved Arthur’s life, but so had Merlin on countless occasions. _But you have also lied to him_ , a small voice in the back of his head whispered. _He doesn’t know if you can be trusted._

And that hurt, more than he was ready to admit to even himself. Yes, they were rebuilding their friendship, but they still were nowhere near where they had been before the balloon went up, as Ros had phrased it. They bantered as they had done before, but Merlin was fairly certain that it was only a way to mask the mess that the friendship really was, if they could even speak of a friendship at all. They were trying, but the trust had been absolutely destroyed. There simply were no easy ways out of this. All in all it was only logical that Arthur sought out someone he felt he could trust unconditionally, even when Merlin feared he was embracing his very own doom.

But he could not truly say anything against the Druid. It was nothing more than suspicions and circumstantial evidence. There was the prophecy to reckon with as well, but it was old news that Arthur did not believe in those. It was almost exactly like it had been when Merlin had first started to suspect Agravaine and Morgana. Arthur was being deliberately blind and since he had only very little to present as evidence, it was not enough to persuade Arthur to see his point. His biggest fear now was that Arthur would only realise the danger he was in when it was already far too late.

And that was why he now hoped that the spooks could help out. Merlin was fully aware that he was not exactly in a position to ask any favours of them – if anything, he owed them a fair few – but he could always ask and that was what he was intending to do. And the spooks had the legends. Those were mostly rubbish, he had learned from his visits to Jo, but some of them held an element of truth, even if they got most of it all wrong and the details were pure fantasy.

Still, it might be useful, if only he could find a way to use it. Harry and Ros would be less than willing to help him out, though, so Merlin’s money was on Lucas. Arthur and Lucas were friends of sorts and the warlock for one was sure that the spy still kept an eye out for the king. He had mumbled something along the lines of how he was not about to let Arthur die now that he had taken such troubles to keep him alive.

‘You are silent, Merlin,’ Arthur observed. ‘Nervous about meeting Jo again?’ It was an attempt at humour, but after the row they’d had the day before, it felt forced and insincere.

Nevertheless, he replied with a snort. ‘Are you nervous about meeting Ros?’ he countered.

Arthur guffawed. ‘Ros is not the one to come for us.’

No, that would be Jo. Merlin had worked out some kind of communication with her. Mobile phones stopped working in Camelot, even after Malcolm’s special treatment, so now he simply had charmed two notebooks into revealing the message that was written in only one of them. So far it worked and this was how he had arranged their transport for the day. If all went well and some terrorist organisation did not get it into their thick skulls to bomb London today, she would be in the village to collect them.

‘Only imagine your relief,’ Merlin said. Normally he would enjoy the feeling of having the last word, but today the argument and the awkwardness that it had caused were still too fresh to let him truly enjoy it. Sometimes it seemed like they would always mess things up just when they seemed to be on the right path. Yesterday was a fine example of that.

The downpour had stopped suddenly, indicating that they had crossed the portal and that it was apparently not raining in Britain today. There was a hesitant sun shining through the leaves.

Merlin muttered a quick spell that dried all their clothes, and found that he had only just beaten Mordred to doing the exact same thing. The young Druid was buttering up to Arthur far more than could be healthy, never passing up an opportunity to get into Arthur’s good books at Merlin’s expense. It was all very subtle, meaning that he could never truly accuse the lad of bullying, but he had been in the job of protecting Arthur long enough to know how to read between lines. And he had not forgotten what Mordred had said years ago: _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget._ Well, Merlin had not forgotten either and that meant that his guard would be well and truly up until this matter was dealt with in a satisfactory manner.

Lucas had once accused him of not being able to do what it took and Merlin was determined for it not to come as close as it had then. _Then accept the fact that someday somewhere someone will kill your king_ , Lucas had said. _There won’t always be someone to take his place. Because that is what happens when you choose to stay on that precious moral high ground of yours._ Yes, Merlin still had principles and that was why he would try to solve it with the spooks’ help first, but if that turned out to be in vain, he might need to take matters into his own hands, no matter how much he hated the need for it. He had a destiny to protect Arthur and he had failed in that before. At least no one would be able to accuse him of not getting his priorities straight this time.

Mordred knew he had been beaten this round, but it was hardly a victory worth mentioning. The war was still on and this had only been a minor skirmish. The look he sent Merlin made it only too obvious.

The walk to the village was a silent one. As always Merlin pointedly avoided looking at the place where the barn Hogan had owned had stood. It was too much of a reminder of his own failure and it was a reminder he could do without. Hogan was still safely behind lock and key and even though there was still a low-level war between MI-5 and the CIA, the latter were unlikely to ever get their former officer back. Harry was adamant about it. _All’s well that ends well_ , the head of the section had said after the operation. The thing was that Merlin was not quite certain if it had even ended yet.

Jo waited on the outskirts of the village with a car. She smiled as she recognised him and greeted him with her usual hug, that made Merlin colour a bright red in embarrassment as Arthur whistled his commentary. He clearly was unable to recognise plain friendship even when it bit him by the nose and had to suspect something more when there was no ground for it whatsoever.

‘Good to see you,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

Fine, his usual answer, would have been a lie and so he settled for the more truthful ‘Could have been worse.’ If he said that with a dazzling smile, she might not even suspect him of lying to her. Disguise the truth in plain sight, Lucas had told him in a rare mood of mildness towards Merlin’s person. It worked too. Jo clearly thought he was joking.

She greeted Arthur with a smile and a handshake and then turned to Mordred. ‘I don’t think we’ve met before?’

Mordred unleashed his most charming smile on her, took her hand and placed a kiss on it. ‘My name is Mordred, Lady Jo. It is a pleasure to meet you.’

To Merlin’s annoyance she blushed and smiled in reaction. The warlock had at least hoped the spies would have more common sense, but Jo reacted the same to Mordred as all the people in Camelot; she seemed charmed and somewhat endeared to the young man. He could only hope Ros, Lucas and Harry would respond quite a bit more reasonably than Jo had just done.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ the junior officer said. She smiled, but all of a sudden the smile became a little fixed as the name started to truly register in her mind. ‘Wait, did you say that your name was Mordred?’ To Merlin’s satisfaction he noticed that the expression of charmed amusement had made way for confusion mixed up with some alarm.

The smile on Mordred’s face was still firmly in place, so he had either not noticed Jo’s changed attitude, which didn’t seem likely, or he did a good job of disguising his own reaction. That seemed a whole lot more likely to Merlin.

‘I did, my lady.’ The Druid was still impeccably polite. ‘Have you heard of me?’

 _She has, just not in the way you think_. Merlin kept his silence. It would be best to tread on eggshells around Arthur where the subject of Mordred was concerned for a while. But he was glad that Jo apparently had more common sense than he had just given her credit for.

He studied Mordred’s face as inconspicuously as he could. He was the very image of the charming young man who was aspiring to be a knight, but something was off. It wasn’t something he could lay his finger on straight away, but as he thought about it for a little longer, he realised that it was Mordred’s attitude towards the twenty-first century that was odd. They were standing next to Jo’s car, a thing that was not commonplace in Camelot, even when Ros unwillingly had sought to remedy that by racing the van through the streets after they had saved Lucas from Morgana’s clutches. Arthur had reacted with fear when he had first laid eyes on the means of transport they had around here. Now, of course the king would have given Mordred something akin to a lecture about what to expect, but still the natural reaction would be to be curious about something that did not exist in the time period they usually lived in, if he wasn’t scared of it, that was. Mordred had not given the vehicle as much as a second glance. To be honest, Merlin was not even sure he had given it a first to begin with.

And this puzzled him. The way Mordred acted would suggest that he was already familiar with cars and had accepted them as a normal thing to be seeing. Merlin did not know what it meant yet, but there was something that was not right. _Is it ever right when Mordred is involved?_

Meanwhile Jo was still trying and failing to come up with an explanation for her own words. She had coloured a bright crimson and was searching for the right words to say, but fortunately her mobile started to blurt out the song that was her ringtone and that saved her from the need to answer Mordred’s question.

‘Jo Portman,’ she said. There was a short silence as she listened to what the person on the other end of the line was saying and then she paled. ‘Ros, are you serious?’ Another silence. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… Yes, I’m on my…’ She removed the phone from her ear. ‘Way,’ she finished wryly. Apparently Ros Myers had been her charming self again and had hung up before Jo could even finish her sentence.

‘What’s the matter?’ Merlin asked. He had spent some time on the Grid after the conclusion of the operation and that had taught him that sudden phone calls almost never meant something good and if Ros did not give him the time to finish a sentence, then that meant things were urgent. Urgent was not good with MI-5.

‘Red-flash,’ the young spy said. She sounded and looked altogether stressed now. ‘I don’t have the time to drop you off at Lucas’s, so you’ll have to come with me to Thames House.’

Personally Merlin did not have any objections to that; he liked the Grid with all its wondrous machines. It was the urgency of it all that made him ill at ease. The last thing he wanted was to be caught up in another serious crisis when he had so many of his own problems to deal with. But there was not much choice now and so he slid into the passenger seat and belted up as Jo hit the gas, driving them back to London at top speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m back from holiday and I brought a whole lot of ideas for this story with me, and that is good news for you, because it means that this one will be updated every Saturday from now on.   
> So, until next Saturday then. In the meantime reviews would be lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

Ros had increasingly less patience for the lunatics who thought they could drive through the red traffic light, causing accidents and traffic jams of legendary proportions. She drummed on the steering wheel impatiently, waiting for the cars in front of her to speed up again so that she could get to work, preferably before she had wasted the entire morning here. She was already running late. Well, technically she was not too late, but Lucas and she had agreed to come into work early to see if they could find out something more about the Sugarhorse operation. Harry had not felt up to sharing, but Ros was not about to go and let her boss face all the trouble on his own, not when he had done so much for her. Good grief, she didn’t know of much people who would employ her after involvement in a failed coup, never mind her betrayal with Yalta. Harry had given her a second chance and that had gained him her loyalty. And that meant that she would not leave him to deal with this Sugarhorse mess all on his own.

Ros more or less expected to see a text from Lucas on her phone, to ask where she was and if she was all right, because she was not yet on the Grid, but her mobile was silent and no texts or calls came in. The traffic jam finally ended and Ros hit the gas to make up for lost time. She parked in the garage and with some interest, but also mild alarm, noticed that neither Harry’s nor Lucas’s cars were there. They too could be caught up in traffic, but Ros rather doubted it. Harry practically lived in Thames House these days and Lucas was an insomniac, who usually was up before the larks and was on the Grid before the sun even started to rise. Both their absence could just be a coincidence, but Ros Myers had been in the Service for far too long to believe in that. She needn’t panic necessarily – and goodness knew she usually didn’t do panic – but a feeling in her gut told her something was wrong.

She was proven right when she emerged on the Grid and found Internal Security swarming all over the place, installing a device that looked remarkably like a mobile listening device to the wall. Malcolm, Connie and Ben were either perched on the edges of desks, or – in Malcolm’s case – were standing with arms folded across their chests radiating disapproval at what was going on. In the background the newsreader was chattering on about the American’s latest foolish notion to place a missile defence shield in Eastern Poland and the Russians’ predictably furious reaction to that, after which he continued to report the death of the Russian Foreign Minister, someone called Alexander Borkhovin, who had died of a heart attack last night.

Ros recognised trouble when she happened upon it and those two incidents were as likely to be separate incidents as she was to ever be a people’s person. The fact that the Prime Minister had gotten himself involved in this mess by backing up the White House in the missile defence shield issue now meant that Britain was as much involved in this as the United States were. And this all just so happened to coincide with Harry and Lucas’s disappearing act and Internal Security taking over the Grid. That was unlikely to be coincidence either. It still did not truly explain what Internal Security had to do with it all.

 _When I expose the mole, all hell will break loose, both here and in Russia_. Harry’s words as he briefed Lucas and her about Sugarhorse came back to her now. Hell had broken loose in Russia already and, by the looks of things, something had gone pear-shaped here as well. _Good grief, Harry, what have you done?_ Sugarhorse must be involved in this all somehow, but Ros had too little information to go on to really be able to work out what to do.

 _Sort out your priorities, Myers_ , she snapped at herself. _Stop wool-gathering and get a move on. You’ve got a crisis to contain._

Her mental reprimand helped to snap her out of her state of shock, even if she would rather die than admit to being shocked by anything. So she marched over to whatever was present of her team and barked the first question she could think off at the intelligence analyst. ‘Where’s Jo?’ If this was truly about Sugarhorse, as she was by now strongly suspecting, than they might be out to do something to that end, but Jo wasn’t in on the whole thing. There was no logical explanation for her disappearing act.

Connie bristled at the tone of voice. ‘I don’t know, Ros,’ she said indignantly. ‘Do you know where Lucas and Harry are?’ Some concern coloured her voice now – she was just as thrown off balance by what now looked like the mysterious disappearance of almost half the team as Ros herself was – and that stopped the Section Chief from exploding altogether.

‘Try their phones,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll call Jo.’ She didn’t wait for Connie’s nod, but dug up her phone and all but stabbed her younger colleague’s number into it.

The phone rang twice before it was answered. ‘Jo Portman.’ The owner of that name sounded far too relaxed for this situation, which drove Ros’s blood even closer to boiling point than it already was. God help her if the junior officer had just overslept.

‘Red-flash,’ she barked into the mobile phone. ‘We seem to be visited by the in-laws just as we have a sodding crisis to contain.’ She was well aware that everything she said would be recorded and analysed, which was why she would need to keep this brief. She would save the shouting for later.

There was a short disbelieving silence on the other end. ‘Ros, are you serious?’ The incredulity in her voice could probably be picked up by a deaf man.

‘Do I sound like I am bloody well joking?’ Ros snapped. If only she were.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Jo hastily apologised. ‘It’s just…’

But Ros didn’t have the time to listen to apologies right now, or to Jo’s naïve chattering about how she didn’t understand what Internal Security was doing on the Grid. ‘I need you here now,’ she pointed out. ‘We’ll discuss this later.’ The same was true for the discussion about how to read the time from a clock, so that she would be on time in future.

‘Yes, I’m on my…’

Ros had hung up on her before she could finish that sentence, just in time to hear the pods whoosh. She swivelled around, only to see Richard Dolby emerging from them with a face like thunder. He hardly spared her a glance as he turned right for Harry’s office. _The link_ , she thought. _He’s the link_. Richard Dolby would have the authority to bring Internal Security down on them and he had been one of the three spies who had created Sugarhorse. _When I expose the mole, all hell will break loose, both here and in Russia_. That prediction had certainly come true.

And she was not going to be left in the dark. So she turned and marched after Dolby. ‘Would you like to explain to me why your technicians are fixing a mobile listening device to our wall while we’re trying to deal with a major diplomatic crisis?’ she demanded. She tried, she really tried, to keep her anger out of her voice, but it was a battle she was doomed to lose before she had even begun to fight it. Richard Dolby was a little shit, whose common sense seemed to have abandoned him around the same time as he ceased to be a field officer and went behind a desk. The fact that he never passed up an opportunity to try and discredit her – in which he never succeeded; trying to win a battle of words against Ros Myers was not something very many people could pull off – did not make her like him any better.

He now stopped and turned to her. ‘The short answer is that I suspect your boss of the most serious betrayal in the history of this organisation.’ He snapped the words at her in anger, as if she somehow was to blame for all of this, but she thought she could detect an amount of smugness underneath it that made her skin crawl. ‘Harry is being investigated under suspicion of being an FSB mole.’

Harry, a mole? Her first impulse was to laugh in the man’s face at the sheer absurdity of the very idea. Harry hated Russians with a passion. He had been thwarting their plans and schemes for most of his working life, so for him to suddenly turn his back on everything he had believed in for so long, that was just not done. Harry Pearce was not the kind of man to ever act in such a fashion. Ros knew him rather well by now and that was one of the few things she was absolutely certain of.

‘That is impossible,’ she managed to croak out as the shock started to replace the urge to laugh hysterically.

‘That is entirely possible.’ Dolby leaned over and all but spat the words in her face. Ros had to suppress the urge to step back to avoid any possible accompanying saliva from ending up in her hair and face. ‘And in his absence, I am taking control of this section. I expect all officers to observe protocol. You work as normal and you report directly to me. And while we continue investigations, all your communications will be recorded and analysed by Internal Security.’

 _Guilty by association, you mean_. Ros had to work hard not to let that accusations, as well as several scathing put-downs concerning Dolby’s state of mind and parentage, cross her lips. The shock was well and truly settling in now and she was cold, even though the central heating worked as normal, probably one of the few things that was, she observed wryly. The rest seemed to have gone belly-up somewhere between last night and now.

‘This team is utterly loyal to Harry Pearce,’ Ros said. She hated the fact that she seemed to have lost the capability to speak in anything louder than a whisper around the same time Dolby had told her about Harry’s supposed betrayal. She did not believe for one second that there was any truth to this accusation. Someone, the traitor Harry had mentioned a few days ago, must have set him up. It was the only bloody explanation that made any sense. Dolby himself might even be the mole, even if she could not for the life of her figure out why he would do such a thing. ‘You cannot expect them to hear that information and carry on as if nothing has happened.’ The shocked faces behind her told her all she needed to know. They were not even aware of how serious this truly was, but already they were confused and maybe even a little scared. Heaven knew even Ros was close to being afraid of what was happening and everyone who knew her could tell that the Section Chief didn’t do scared.

‘I do not believe that Alexander Borkhovin died of a heart attack.’ Dolby, Ros observed, reminded her of a vicious dog planning on ripping her throat out. ‘I think the Russians are up to something and until you find out what it is and how it relates to this crisis, I don’t want to hear another word.’

That must be the first and quite possibly the last thing Ros Myers and Richard Dolby ever agreed on, but this was hardly the time to celebrate that glorious fact. Quite the contrary actually. It was possibly for the best that Dolby left her where she stood while he marched into Harry’s office – blasphemy in and out of itself – and slid the door forcefully shut, as to emphasise that he was shutting her out. Just for this once Ros didn’t mind not being admitted into the office; there was nothing she would hate more than to share the space with that bloody man.

She took a deep breath and turned back to her colleagues. The whole world had turned upside down and had ceased to make sense today, but with Harry being interrogated by only God knows who and in heaven only knew what way – and that was a subject she could not afford to let herself think about for fear she might start to scream if she did – she was in charge and there was panic enough as it was. If she lost her composure, then all chances of ever getting to the end of this crisis and proving that Harry was not the traitor he was made out to be were practically non-existent. She felt as if the weight of the world had been loaded onto her shoulders.

‘Harry’s been arrested,’ she announced. _And even if it is the last thing I do, I will get him out._ She had promised that she would give anything he might need when he had briefed her about Sugarhorse and she meant it. The current crisis might have to take precedence, but she would put an end to this nonsense first chance she got.

‘Do they have any evidence against him?’ Ben sounded doubtful about that himself, as if he did not really believe it himself, with good reason of course.

‘I very much doubt it,’ Ros said dismissively. Proof there might be, because even Dolby would not act without some evidence, but she did not think that it was genuine. ‘We’ll be kept under surveillance. Our orders are to work as normal, but to report to Richard Dolby.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’ Connie voiced the sentiment Ros herself felt.

But she could not and would not allow that sentiment to rule her actions and so she slapped it down. ‘Whatever we may feel, we need to work out what the Russians’ next move is before they know it themselves and we start by finding out if that man’s death,’ she pointed at Borkhovin’s face, that was splashed all over the television screen still, ‘has anything to do with this.’ She went on to give orders. It helped to do something that was so familiar. Right now focusing on this operation stopped her from going to pieces. Harry was arrested for treason and Lucas was heaven only knew where and she felt forlorn. Everything now came down to her and as much as she usually relished the chance of being in sole charge, she now found that she did not enjoy it as much as she thought she would.

Connie seemed to have read her thoughts. ‘And where’s Lucas?’ she asked. ‘Is he in trouble too?’ Ros took it that meant that a call to his mobile had been just as useless as her attempt to make Richard Dolby see sense.

‘I have no idea,’ she confessed. ‘But if anyone hears from Lucas, they let me know immediately.’ God give that he at least was somewhere safe.

 

***

 

Arthur would never really get used to being driven around in twenty-first century cars, that moved at a speed that always left Arthur with the feeling his stomach was left behind some miles back. Normally Jo drove reasonably well – meaning: slow – but today she seemed to have copied her Section Chief’s driving habits: far too fast and reckless. Whatever had been discussed on the phone, it was serious. Mordred was pale and gave every impression of going to throw up between now and five minutes.

Merlin was the only one who seemed perfectly at ease. He had been jumpy and uneasy for most of the past few weeks, but that unease seemed to have vanished faster than one could say magic the moment he stepped foot in Britain. The king of Camelot could not say what had brought that change about, but it was clear that he felt at home here. Even the impending crisis of a yet unspecified nature did not penetrate the aura of confidence that hung about him now. He was chatting with Jo and ignored Arthur and Mordred on the back seat of the car. Well, at least it was no news that he was ignoring the Druid. Merlin had never liked the lad, because of some prophecy apparently. That matter was not yet resolved.

It was actually one of the reasons he had taken Mordred with him to Camelot. It was high time that Merlin got used to his presence and “exposure” to the future knight might just do the trick. Maybe, he pondered as Jo slowed down to drive the vehicle into the garage under Thames House, Merlin just could not handle the fact that he no longer was the only one with magic to have Arthur’s confidence. In that case, he’d better get used to it.

‘What has happened?’ he questioned as they left the garage and made their way up the stairs. Mordred was looking at his surroundings as if the very walls would jump out to attack him – an attitude Arthur recognised all too well, because he had been exactly like that when he had first come here – but at the moment the crisis would have to take precedence.

Jo shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I only know that I was red-flashed and that Internal Security has moved in for some reason. I don’t know anything else.’ The young woman sounded a little anxious and distressed.

Arthur wondered what he knew about Internal Security, but it was very little. All he knew, and that was deducted from Jo’s behaviour, was that their presence was apparently bad news. What the hell is going on? His mind’s voice sounded a lot like Ros at the moment. This visit sounded less like a good idea by the second.

They emerged from the pods, only to be greeted with chaos. There were a lot of unfamiliar and very unsympathetic looking faces on the Grid, there was some shouting and to top it all off nicely there was an all too familiar man in Harry’s office. He was around the same age as the Section head and he had the same dress code as well, but that were the similarities ended. This man looked like he had chewed on something very sour as he was bended over a stack of reports on the desk that Arthur always thought of as Harry’s. At first he failed to come up with a name for him, but then he recalled the spy boss he had gotten into an argument with over his treatment of Ros. Richard Dolby had hardly changed in those few months, apart from the fact that he now looked even less friendly than he usually was. And the sight of that man in that office made his skin crawl.

The next thing he noticed was that Lucas was not anywhere in sight either. The officers that were on the Grid were caught up in frantic activity and there was a level of tension that Arthur associated with the time Lucas had been suspected of being a traitor. Connie was glaring at the computer screen in front of her, Malcolm was caught up in a very uncharacteristic heated argument with one of the unfamiliar men that had invaded the Grid and seemed to be preventing him from getting to his own work station. Ben, he now realised, was nowhere to be seen either.

It was almost a relief to find that Ros at least was still where she was supposed to be. The Section Chief was leaning over her desk, looking at the files in front of her as if they had gravely offended her. If they had been living beings, they would have dropped dead from the scowl on her face. It was nothing new to see the Section Chief look at something or someone in that way, but today it only seemed to confirm what the other officers already seemed to suggest was happening.

Jo made a beeline for Ros’s desk and there was little choice for him but to follow suit. If he wanted to know what the matter was – and Arthur realised that he indeed wanted to know, even as he regretted having come here today of all days already – then Ros would be the person to ask. The Section Chief was the kind of person who always knew exactly what was going on around her and there was no reason to assume today was any different.

Part of him wished he was home, but another part of him – that part of him that got him into trouble time and again – wanted to help out. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that something somewhere had gone horribly wrong and he owed these people a lot after they had helped him so much.

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, following Ros’s good example of wasting no time on social niceties. She was rubbing off badly on him.

So far she had not noticed their arrival, so when she looked up from whatever it was that she had been doing, there was surprise on her face. But she would not be the Section Chief of Section D if she hadn’t known how to handle that and then she turned on Jo. ‘What are _they_ doing here?’ The tone of voice suggested that she was close to biting the junior officer’s head off.

Had anyone else spoken about him in such tones, Arthur would have exploded. But this was Ros and she didn’t do polite conversation unless it couldn’t be helped. And it was no state secret that she only tolerated their presence as long as they were not in her way. Today, apparently, they very much were.

‘We had agreed to visit with Jo and Lucas,’ he replied, throwing in his last reserves of patience, which were fading rapidly at not having his questions answered. He got the annoying feeling that his questions were evaded on purpose.

Something flickered in Ros’s eyes, but it was gone before it could be identified. ‘Have you seen Lucas?’

The alarm in her voice, no matter how well disguised, set Arthur’s teeth on edge. Heaven gave that he had not just arrived in time for a repeat performance of Lucas’s supposed betrayal. ‘We were red-flashed near the portal,’ he reported. ‘So we assumed we would meet him here. Ros, what is wrong? Where is Lucas?’ He glanced at the office again, where Dolby was still enthroned behind a desk that in Arthur’s mind never would be his. ‘And where’s Harry?’

Ros only answered the last one. ‘Harry’s been arrested under suspicion of being an FSB mole.’ She growled the words, stabbing a pen at the papers in front of her as she did so.

It took Arthur a few moments to recall what the FSB was and then his jaw dropped in disbelief. Harry, a spy for the Russians? Even he, not remotely up to date with the latest developments and not too well informed about politics and allegiances in the twenty-first century, would know that Harry was even less likely to betray his country than Arthur was to ever dress up in skirts and declare himself a woman. The very notion was just too ridiculous to consider. ‘Harry?’ he asked, stupidly wondering if perhaps they were talking about another Harry. ‘Harry Pearce?’

Ros cast him a withering glance. ‘No, Harry Potter,’ she said sarcastically.

Arthur rewarded her for her troubles with a blank look. He didn’t think he’d ever heard of anyone by that name and besides, Ros did not sound as if she had really meant what she said. It was just one of her sarcastic put-downs. Nevertheless, the question had already escaped his mouth before he could stop himself. ‘Who?’

‘Never mind,’ the Section Chief said irritably. ‘You haven’t seen Lucas at all? Heard of him?’ She almost sounded cajoling now, but Arthur dismissed that fanciful thought at once. Ros Myers did not plead, ever. She would not suddenly start to do so now, not even now that Harry had been arrested.

Arthur complied with the unspoken request to pull the mobile he had been given for when he spent time in London, out of his pocket. It had taken him some time to learn how to use it and he would never excel at using it, but he did know how to check for texts and missed calls. There were none of those.

‘Nothing,’ he reported. ‘Where is he?’

‘What is happening?’ Jo asked at the same time.

Naturally it was Jo’s question that was answered. What followed was an account of the death of an important Russian official, just as the Russians were running amok over America’s plan to place a missile defence shield – Arthur made a mental note to ask Connie, his personal translator for words he did not yet know, what exactly that was – close to their borders. And while Harry was still under investigation, Richard Dolby had apparently taken control of Section D and all officers were now ordered to report to him, another thing that made the king want to hit that man. Arthur had to agree with her that this was unlikely to be a coincidence and he even agreed with her about the need to find out what the hell the Russians were up to before this crisis could truly escalate, but it had not escaped his notice that Ros had so far failed to answer his question of where Lucas was.

Not that he did not have suspicions of his own. The main reason he had even heard of the FSB’s existence, was that Lucas had been their “guest” for eight years. And now they came into the picture in relation to Harry being a “traitor” and the Russians getting angry at the United States and Britain. He sincerely hoped Lucas’s disappearance did not mean he was spirited away into his own personal hell again, but he also knew that there was a distinct possibility of exactly that happening.

‘Where is Lucas?’ he repeated for good measure, hoping to get a more satisfactory answer this time.

Ros shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.’ She looked at Jo, Merlin and finally at Mordred. ‘Who’s that?’

‘His name is Mordred,’ Arthur replied. ‘He’ll soon be knighted, so I thought I’d take him with me to get used to London.’

The expression of almost disgust on Ros’s face told the king of Camelot what she thought of that decision, but she kept her commentary to herself and turned to Jo and the servant. ‘Jo, I want Borkhovin’s phone and email records. I want to know everything he said, wrote and thought in the last month and I want it on my desk as soon as possible. Merlin can help you, since he doesn’t have anything else to do.’ It was good to know that some things never changed and Ros’s attitude towards Merlin was one of those things. Her gaze then fell on Mordred, who was as ill at ease as Arthur had ever seen him. ‘You just stay out of their way and do something useful if you can.’ For some reason she seemed just as hostile towards Mordred as Merlin, although her reasons probably had more to do with him being in her way than the prophecy the warlock could not shut up about. ‘And keep them as far away from Dolby as you can. Last thing we need is him poking his nose in that as well.’

Mordred took offence all the same. He shot Ros as withering a glance as she had sent him, but went without as much as a murmur of protest.

Arthur waited until they were gone and then turned back to Ros. She had sent them away so she could talk to him, he suspected that much, and it was a clear sign that whatever alliance they had formed over Operation Camelot was still in existence. ‘What is going on?’ he asked. If he wasn’t careful he would soon lose count of how many times he had asked that question already today. ‘Really going on?’

Ros quickly brought him up to speed and left Arthur gawping at the complexity of it all.

‘You mean that he was about to expose a traitor and now he is being set up?’ It didn’t take a great intellect to conclude that the traitor must have been two or more steps ahead and had taken rather drastic measures to prevent Harry from revealing what he knew. ‘And Lucas?’ Because that was still the big question.

Ros shook her head. ‘I don’t know where he is,’ she repeated. ‘He was briefed about Sugarhorse with me. The Russians interrogated him about it, he said, but I don’t think he knows anything else. I saw him last night, but have not heard from him since. And he’s not answering his bloody mobile either!’ The frustration was too obvious to miss. There was worry there as well, which was understandable, since Arthur knew them to be friends.

‘Just as Harry is taken prisoner about a matter Lucas knew about,’ he concluded, feeling the dread settling comfortably in his stomach. ‘Do you think Dolby’s taken him as well?’

Ros shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t bloody know.’ The words came out as a snarl. ‘And I can’t leave the Grid to find out what happened. I need to contain this crisis first.’ It was the well-known job-first-and-everything-else-later-attitude that Arthur found so hard to understand. He knew Ros would never willingly throw Harry and Lucas to the wolves, but she would leave them among enemies if national security was threatened, although she would only do very reluctantly so. Arthur had seen for himself just how far she was willing to go for her colleagues.

But he was not bound by the same rules as the Section Chief was. ‘I’ll go to his flat to see what I can find out.’ A plan was forming in his mind now. He more or less knew the way, although it would take longer by foot than by car. And he did not know what else he could really do without any other clues to go on. Lucas’s flat might hold some answers. The one thing he was sure of was that he could not leave his friend in danger, if that was what was the matter here.

Ros seemed to be on the verge of refusing, but then nodded. ‘Discreetly,’ she instructed. ‘I don’t want Dolby catching wind of it.’

Arthur simply nodded. ‘I will be.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Arthur carries out an investigation of his own. Until then, comments would be very welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

He should have known that things would never be as easy as that. Dolby, who had so far been too preoccupied with whatever report he had been reading, had suddenly looked up and located three extra people on “his” work floor. The result of that was that he had come storming out from the office, looking like a lion about to attack and swallow him whole, demanding just what he thought they were doing here.

Arthur by now had developed something of an allergic reaction to the presence of the man. He was not Ros’s biggest fan either – the woman was far too snappy and cold to be considered likeable – but Dolby was unreasonable. It didn’t help the case that he was as haughty as Lord Harold and far too pleased with himself, even if it quite eluded Arthur what he was so pleased about; he never seemed to do anything even remotely useful.

‘What is going on here?’ he demanded.

‘We are investigating the death of Alexander Borkhovin,’ Arthur replied, staring the other man down. He was grateful for Ros’s little lecture. Helping Section D had not been very high on his to-do list, but even if the Section Chief had not spelled it out for him, he was not stupid. They might be heading towards the worst crisis they had faced since Morgana and Hogan had taken to blowing up the station. And with Dolby playing the overbearing idiot, Harry arrested and Lucas missing, turning away would not be the right thing to do. Lucas had risked life and limb for him and now might be the time to repay the favour. ‘I am following up a plausible lead, as per your instructions.’

Dolby at least gave the impression of being a little ill at ease – Arthur did not think he had quite forgotten who Arthur was, nor had he forgotten the tongue-lashing he had been on the receiving end of the last time they’d met – but being Section Head had made him a little more immune to it. ‘Where did you come from? You are not part of this section.’

He swung his ID in front of Richard Dolby’s face, so close the man had to look cross-eyed to see it properly. For a moment he seemed to be choking, but then he nodded stiffly. ‘You’ll hand in your report the moment you return,’ he ordered, trying and failing to pull rank on him.

 _Will I now?_ Any reports he had would be taken to Ros, he knew. Things may be different in the twenty-first century, but he had grown up in a land where loyalty was something that was tied to individual persons, like a king or close friends, instead of to a system. Ros had earned Arthur’s, Dolby had not.

‘Merlin, are you coming?’ he called. He had absolutely no intention of walking across London when he had a servant who had – finally – mastered the art of disappearing and appearing in impressive looking whirlwinds in no time at all. And he might have a few tricks up his sleeve that could come in handy in case Lucas’s flat was not as safe as Arthur hoped it to be.

Mordred was making to follow, but was called back almost right away by Jo to sort out some paperwork. She tried to make it sound like the natural thing to do, but contrary to popular belief, Arthur was not completely deprived of intelligence or observational skills. There was something forced about her tone of voice. There had been ever since the moment the lad introduced himself to her and he thought there had been a flicker of wariness on Ros’s face as well when he had mentioned Mordred’s name. Something told him that his plan to have the young Druid accepted was not going quite according to plan and for the life of him he could not understand why.

But that was something that had to wait now. It would keep until this crisis was dealt with, Harry was back in his office, Lucas was on the Grid and Dolby would have crawled back into whatever dark place he had come from. The lad was looking at him pleadingly, visibly ill at ease and not at all willing to spend any more time here, especially if it had to be spent without a familiar face there to guide him.

‘My lord, would it not be better if I came with you?’ he asked. ‘It might be dangerous.’

Arthur shook his head. He would know what to look for and to Mordred it would all be new and bewildering. And sorting papers was something he would know how to do; even a child could do that. ‘Stay here, Mordred,’ he ordered, but in as gentle a tone of voice as he could muster. ‘If there are any dangers, then Merlin will protect me from them.’

Merlin’s face brightened even as Mordred’s fell. Arthur contained the rage he felt at their childish rivalry for his favour. He had no idea what had gotten into their heads, but he found himself wishing he could just bash their heads together to smash some sense into them, because at the moment he felt like the only one of the three of them who had his priorities sorted.

‘No offence, my lord, but Merlin does not master the sword very well,’ the future knight protested, not about to let the matter go.

‘I master the sword well enough.’ Arthur gave his voice a slightly dismissive edge, but could not find it in himself to snap at Mordred. He could not quite fathom why, but he felt responsible for him, not unlike a parent might, he imagined. Maybe it was because he had known Mordred as a young, helpless boy. ‘And, as you know, Merlin has a better form of defence if the need should arise. Mordred,’ he said as the lad nonetheless tried to object again, ‘this is an order.’ The sentence was borrowed from Harry, who used it when he wanted to end an argument.

The lad looked crestfallen, but nevertheless bowed and returned to the desk he had been assigned. He kept looking as if he could be attacked any moment, but he obeyed, as Arthur had already expected. Later he would explain why he needed Merlin rather than him for this job. Now was not the time.

Merlin was a little too happy about this turn of events and it showed in that dazzling smile that now spread over his face. Lately he seemed to be only too eager to see Mordred taken down and it set Arthur’s very teeth on edge. ‘Wipe that smile off your face, _Mer_ lin,’ he snapped at the warlock. ‘This childish feud has to end. We are dealing with a serious matter and Lucas might be in danger.’ He resisted the urge to add a snapped ‘Get your bloody priorities sorted,’ because he had already heard one time too many that he sounded too much like Ros.

The loud silence he received from the other was all the response he got, but at least the triumphant smile had gone. It was a compromise, but it was the best he could hope for under the given circumstances. When they were back in Camelot he would sit Merlin down for a long chat about jealousy and how to deal with that. And while he was at it, he might have a chat about paranoia and prophecies as well. This was getting too ridiculous for words. But that time was not now.

Arthur forced his mind back to the matter at hand, going over what he knew, which admittedly was not very much at all. Lucas could have been abducted by Dolby as well as Harry, and in that case there might be clues in his flat. The same would be true if the FSB had gotten to him. Or else he was in hiding, which was the possibility Arthur was hoping for. There did not seem any other options.

‘What do you think we will find there?’ Merlin asked, following Arthur’s example of focusing on the operation instead of trivial matters as they walked down to an abandoned alley they could use to disappear without the passers-by and CCTV noticing any of their actions.

Arthur shrugged. ‘Any clue,’ he said, not even sure what he was looking for himself. Lucas’s flat was so sparsely furnished that he hoped that any clues there might be, would be easily visible. He would not allow himself to hope too hard though. If spooks excelled at anything, it would be keeping secrets and obscuring the truth from any casual onlookers. ‘Just keep an eye out,’ he ordered, a little surprised that he even needed to have this discussion with his servant. It was Merlin who had the most experience in spying on others and working out the clues. Arthur was still relatively new to this whole spying business. It should be Merlin who was telling him what to do. On the other hand, Arthur knew Lucas relatively well – as well as anyone could know that man, he supposed – so he might know if anything was amiss.

Merlin didn’t say another word, caught up in his own thoughts as they made their way to the alley and then transported onto the landing in front of Lucas’s front door. There was a risk of being seen in doing that, but the landing was abandoned and there was no one to notice them.

‘Did you bring a key?’ Merlin asked.

Arthur threw his servant a withering glance. ‘Since when have you needed any keys to enter a building, Merlin?’

The servant blushed in embarrassment. Arthur could not really fault him for it though. They both were still rather new to this whole using-magic-out-in-the-open thing, so it was hardly a surprise that Merlin had not remembered. Some habits were hard to break. Goodness knew that Arthur still had trouble handling it all. He sometimes still felt like calling the guards whenever he caught Merlin in the process of cleaning his boots magically. He had been brought up to be wary of sorcery and almost everything he had seen in his life had only strengthened that view. Magic was dangerous. Consequently, Merlin was dangerous. He was quite possibly the most dangerous man Arthur had ever met or would ever meet. But Merlin was also on his side, which meant that he was not a danger to him. Still, it took some getting used to the changed situation.

And apparently he was not the only one who needed some time to adapt to the changes. Merlin, Arthur had come to learn, had taught himself to do things the normal way and sometimes he would even forget that there was a different way he could use to get a job done. The key issue was a fine example of that.

He didn’t bother with an answer though. ‘ _Tospringe_ ,’ he whispered, making the door unlock itself. Arthur would have to admit that this was a lot easier than to bother with keys.

He had only been in Lucas’s flat twice. The first time had been when he had stayed with the man on his first visit – if it could be called that – and the second time when he had visited a month ago. He had been meant to go back before dark, but a thunderstorm and the enormous traffic jams it caused had made him change his plans. It wasn’t much to go on, but he knew the place better than Merlin. More importantly, he knew Lucas.

The flat was neat and tidy, and just as impersonal as Arthur remembered. If he had not seen the bookcase in the living room, he would never have believed that anyone lived here. But Lucas owned a wide range of books in both English and Russian, which reflected his tastes. But books would probably not help them in finding any clues.

Arthur was already regretting this little outing. When he had set out on this mission, he had believed that he would be able to spot the hints he’d been looking for within a few seconds. Well, to tell the truth, he had hoped rather than believed that Lucas would leave something in plain sight for all to see, but he remembered that this was one of the most foolish things he could have done, because in the back of his head he’d known this was not going to be easy.

 _It was not easy for Lucas when he endured torture at Morgana’s hands_ , he reminded himself. Life was almost never easy.

‘Lucas?’ he called, hoping against hope that the spy had just overslept, which admittedly wasn’t likely, because he was an insomniac if ever he’d met one. Still, he needed to be sure. ‘Lucas, are you home?’

His calls were met by silence. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was a disappointment. It would mean that he would have to search the flat and go through the man’s personal belongings to see what story they would tell. And a message they might contain, but Arthur was not sure if he would have the skill to read it. This spying world was so different from the world he was used to, and so very much more complicated. A foray into the twenty-first century sometimes made him feel as if he was trying to play a game that he did not fully understand and nevertheless he was trying to pretend to know what he was doing, for fear he would be found out as a liar if he didn’t. It was not a pleasant feeling at all. It was as if he was a child all over again, trying and failing to keep up with the grown-ups.

‘Check the bedroom and the bathroom,’ he told Merlin, trying to sound as if he had a plan. ‘I’ll check the kitchen and living room.’

The kitchen turned out to be frustratingly free of any evidence on inspection, as Arthur had already feared. His own inability to hunt down clues was starting to both frustrate and annoy him. Give him a normal hunt any day. It was very well possible that Lucas had left a message in the kitchen, spelled out in coffee beans or something, but if that was the case, he was unable to find and read it.

Praying that the living room had more to offer, he turned there. Lucas valued his books, he knew, so maybe that was where he should start. Someone might write a message on the inside of the cover, or scribbled next to the text. Lucas could have done the same, but it was going to be a time-consuming job.

He would save that for last and first see if there were no other clues to be found. And so he knelt down to look underneath the sofa – it was a good thing his nobles didn’t know what he was doing or they would all suffer a heart attack from the shock of seeing their king on his knees like an ordinary servant – inspected the coffee table intensively and subjected the carpet to a thorough examination as well. None of them yielded any answers.

‘Did you find anything?’ Merlin asked as he joined him again.

Arthur left the carpet to itself and turned around. ‘Nothing so far,’ he replied curtly; the lack of results was doing nothing to improve his mood in any way. ‘You?’

The warlock shook his head. ‘Nothing. If there is anything there, I can’t find it.’

It was as annoying as it was predictable. Arthur got to his feet again and only then realised that he had missed out on something. On a small side table stood a phone and next to the phone lay a notebook. He had seen that the first time he was here as well. Lucas used it to write down messages he got by phone and the rest was reserved for reminders to himself to do the laundry, buy bread or call the repairman.

‘See if you can find anything in the books,’ he commanded Merlin. ‘I’ll check the notebook and then I’ll come to help you.’

The notebook was filled with notes and most of them did not seem to be very important; the Senior Case Officer didn’t write anything related to his work down in here. Nevertheless Arthur took his time to see if one note to buy bread or to phone his father might be just a message to his colleagues in a disguise.

There did not seem to be any and Arthur was increasingly frustrated with it, almost to a point that he wanted to hurl the book across the room. The messages, all written in blue ink, seemed to taunt him with their uselessness. And he was this close to making good on his impulse when the message in black ink almost jumped off the page: _Flight to hell, 5.15 am._

Flight to hell. There were only two places Lucas North would refer to as hell: Morgana’s hovel and Russia. The first had lost its meaning, because Morgana was dead and could no longer hurt anybody. Besides, one couldn’t fly to Camelot, unless it was on a dragon’s back and that was not what Lucas would mean here. Russia was really the only option.

But this note ruled out the possibility of abduction. A planned flight, that had to mean he went of his own volition. But why? What on earth could drive Lucas to willingly return to the land of his nightmares? Things just didn’t add up.

He speed-read the other notes in the book in search for answers, keeping an eye out for the black ink, which seemed to have been used deliberately for this message. It was a wild guess, but one that paid off when he came across another black-inked note. It were just numbers this time and at first it puzzled the king. _A telephone number_ , his mind then supplied. To anyone living in this day and age that would probably be the obvious conclusion, one they’d reach within half a second of first seeing it. But Arthur had gone most of his life without any of the complicated devices they used around here – and was glad of it – and did not recognise it straight away. But when he did, pieces of the puzzle started falling into place.

Arthur Pendragon dialled the number and hoped to God he had not made a huge mistake in acting as he did.

 

***

 

Moscow was unchanged, Lucas observed as he left the airport and made his way towards a taxi. It felt and looked exactly the same as it did eight years ago, with the minor difference that there seemed to be more people around. He had a strange feeling of déjà vu as he crossed the street. This was the way he had also gone about things when he had last come here and there was no way he would be able to banish the memories of that operation from his mind anytime soon.

 _Stop wallowing, North._ His mental voice sounded remarkably like Ros these days, especially when he needed the mental kick in the behind to get going. _This is not going to get you any nearer to your asset._

Fortunately Harry had provided him with an address, written on a piece of paper he had found in the envelope, because it was only after his boss had hung up that he realised he had absolutely no clue as to where he could find this Maria Korachevsky. But he could not go there by taxi. If Harry had been set up, as he had claimed, then the traitor must be aware that they were onto him – or her. Once again a small voice in the back of his head was quick to remind him that Ros had been aware of Sugarhorse and Harry searching for intelligence.

He slapped it down immediately. He liked to think that if Ros was up to something, he would have noticed it by now. Besides, Harry was like a father to her and she was utterly loyal to her team. She would not betray any member of said team. And there were more ways of finding out information than to hear it from the horse’s mouth. He should have known that.

It did not change the fact that at home everything could have gone to hell for all he knew, which meant that he had to go by Moscow Rules, a name that seemed rather appropriate in this city. For all intents and purposes he was on enemy territory now and it was as dangerous for him here as it had been for officers during the Cold War, when the protocol had been invented. If the traitor became aware of his absence, the chances were high that he would soon have the FSB on his trail. And since he had no ambition to repeat eight years in his own personal form of hell, that meant he would have to avoid CCTV covered areas and take back streets as much as he possibly could. If he truly did get the Russians after him, he would make it more difficult for them than the last time.

Of course he was not at all planning on making it easy on them and fortunately his rather intimate knowledge of the Russian language and the Russian ways would make it so much easier to blend in. His marriage to Elizabeta had been good for something then, he observed wryly, before pushing the memory of her to the back of his mind. She was gone from his life, would never be part of it again, and he would have to let her go. Clinging to the past would not do him any good, nor would it be any help to Harry.

His thoughts drifted to the head of Section D then. _I’m being set up_ , he had said. Lucas had no idea in what way he was being set up, but he had a lingering and growing suspicion that the traitor was setting Harry up to look like the traitor. If that was the case, he may even be arrested now. Now there was an unwelcome thought.

He really would have to slip under the radar, not only to avoid any unfortunate run-ins with his former captors, but also to make sure the traitor in Section D would not become aware of where he was. Malcolm, Connie or Ros? He still didn’t know and he still didn’t want to even consider any of them at all. He knew all of them, liked all of them. The very thought that one of those three had sold him out was unbearable and he found himself hoping that blame could just be pinned on Richard Dolby, whom nobody even seemed to like.

He got out of the taxi and bought a breakfast at the nearest shop, small talking the shop personnel while he was at it. None of them seemed to suspect that he was not a native Russian and when the girl behind the counter asked in which part of the city he lived, he felt his confidence grow. He could still do this. He gave her a false address and then left the shop, hoping that things would go as smoothly as they had gone just now.

He ate as he walked, giving the impression of some businessman late for work. People did not give him a second glance as he passed them, too absorbed in their own little world to notice the British spy amongst them. Lucas knew better than to let that soothe him, though. It had gone as easily as this the last time too at first. The real trial was still ahead of him.

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket as he crossed one of the bigger streets and his first impulse was to freeze into place. He had not given this number to anyone, so no one could have reasonably called him. A second later common sense kicked in and he remembered writing the number down in the notebook in his living room. Someone would have found it and realised what it meant or he would not have been called.

Knowing he’d have to exercise caution – passing for a native Russian would be somewhat undermined if he was heard to be speaking English fluently – and being mindful of the fact that it may be the wrong person who called him, he answered his temporary mobile with just a curt ‘Hello?’

‘Lucas,’ the voice on the other end of the line acknowledged. Lucas could have exhaled in relief when he realised it was Arthur Pendragon. If there was anyone who would not be the traitor they were looking for, it was the king of Camelot. ‘How are you?’ The only thing wrong with Arthur was that he seemed to treat him like he was made out of porcelain ever since Morgana had abducted him. Lucas knew he meant well, but fussing didn’t suit Arthur and the spy had more than enough of Harry’s worry already.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he replied briskly. _As soon as I am out of here_. ‘You’re in the flat? Are you alone?’ He needed to know if he could talk freely.

‘Merlin’s here, but he doesn’t count.’ Arthur’s answer was flippant, but sincere. ‘And the emperor of Rome is quite worried for you, but she’s stuck at work.’ Lucas only just caught himself from chuckling out loud when he remembered that Ros had indeed introduced herself like that when they had first accidentally run in on one another, but the mirth quickly came to an end when he realised Arthur was using code language. And here the king hesitated, as if he was wondering how to convey information without giving too much away to people who may be listening in, which meant there was a distinct opportunity of people listening in. Arthur wasn’t one for caution; he was more the reckless type. Something must have brought this change about.

And he had to be careful how he phrased his questions as well. For all he knew the FSB was lurking about around here somewhere. Speaking English might be suspicious, but he wouldn’t be the only Englishman around, not in a city as big as this one. ‘Can you give her my regards when you see her next?’ he asked. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take. Ros could not be the traitor. He simply refused to believe that of the one person who’d always backed him up. Friends were more okay than colleagues, something he’d always more or less known. ‘And tell her I’ll soon be back to annoy her.’ Ros would know what it meant, he hoped. ‘And while you’re at it, say hello to my dad as well, will you?’

There was a short silence in which it was all too likely that Arthur decoded his speech. ‘That might be difficult,’ he answered eventually. ‘He’s rather stuck downstairs, courtesy of the big boss.’

Another silence followed as Arthur again sought for the right words. The king was not a spy, would never be one, but Lucas appreciated the effort he made to move in a world he barely understood. He was slow to adapt, but he made an effort when the situation asked for it, as he was doing now.

‘Ah, the one colleague who is not okay,’ Lucas understood, while at the same time wondering what the hell Dolby thought he was doing, before realising that thinking and Richard Dolby usually didn’t occupy the same room.

He tried and failed to suppress the shiver that was going down his spine at the mention of Harry being stuck downstairs. There was only one sort of place he knew to be there and that was not a place he wanted to see his boss in, especially not if he was “stuck” there. It should not have come as a surprise, but he felt slightly nauseous all the same. He knew what it was like to be caught in a cell, being interrogated like that. True, MI-5 didn’t go as far as the FSB in their interrogation techniques, but there were more ways to make a man’s life a hell. And Harry was not as young as he had once been.

‘He’s more than a bit not okay,’ Arthur growled. ‘He’s brought in the in-laws as well. Oh, and I’m afraid he stole your father’s chair too. The emperor is none too pleased about it either.’

Internal Security on the Grid and Dolby in Harry’s office. Things were even worse than he had expected. Small wonder that Ros was less than pleased. If Lucas knew her at all, she must be about ready to tear Dolby to pieces with her bare hands by now, even more so because Dolby never ceased his picking at her. Well, at least she had one knight in shining armour to protect her from the most rude comments Dolby threw her way; he had been walking on eggshells around the king of Camelot since he learned of his identity.

Lucas glanced around him, but no one seemed to take any notice of him and so far he hadn’t spotted any faces he recognised either. If the FSB had a surveillance team on his trail, it should be quite extensive. It would seem he was clear for now, but it would be best to get moving as soon as possible. ‘Tell her I’m fishing and I hope I can bring in a big one for my dad.’

‘I will.’ Arthur’s promises always sounded like he was making a solemn vow, but right now it was the reassurance he needed. ‘Oh, and don’t call unless you have to.’ Meaning: anyone could listen in. ‘I think we’re okay now, but I’ll be going back to the emperor now, so…’

‘I get it,’ Lucas said. He’d known he would be on his own on this op, but it did not mean he had to like it and being in contact with a friend, someone who was on his side, had temporarily subsided the tension he’d felt before. Now the adrenaline kicked back in again, and not necessarily in a good way. ‘Take care, Arthur. We may have a bad apple in our very own little fruit bowl.’

‘I know,’ the king replied. Lucas could almost hear the nod. ‘The emperor told me.’

That was an interesting development. Ros had apparently briefed him about Sugarhorse, which was not like her. Lucas doubted the rest of the team was even aware of it. But maybe it wasn’t that strange after all. Arthur and Ros had been allies during Operation Camelot as well. She would know Arthur could be trusted. And she would need him on side if Dolby truly was trying to take control of Section D.

 _And there’s only one way to put an end to that: get the intelligence and find out who the mole really is._ And he had wasted enough time on this call. Every minute he lingered here, was another minute in which he could be discovered. ‘Good. I’ll be back soon.’ He hung up before the king had the chance to respond.

The streets still looked normal and there was no sign that there was any surveillance on him, but he still turned quickly and disappeared into the crowds. Time to get that intel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Merlin and Mordred have a little heart to heart. Until then, reviews would be very welcome.


	6. Chapter 6

The Grid was busier than a bee colony in high summer, even when Dolby had retreated into the office that would always be Harry’s in Ros’s mind. The very sight of that bastard sitting there made her want to grab him by the collar and forcefully escort him from the premises, but that would be professional suicide and the last thing she should do now was to put her career on the line when both Harry and Lucas were gone.

Harry was the solid rock on which this team was built, she observed, and it was obvious that his officers craved his leadership. He was the one that kept them all together, and while Ros could lead as well, she was not as well liked as the Section Head and she knew it. Her orders were obeyed, but not with quite as much enthusiasm and that stung. And normally she would have Lucas and his easy charm as a second in command whenever Harry pulled one of his disappearing acts again. He usually only had to ask and smile and everyone tripped over themselves to carry out his request. Ros’s orders were only obeyed reluctantly; not everyone had quite forgotten the mistake she’d made with Yalta. Sometimes her life would be so much easier if people didn’t dwell so much on the bloody past and started to get more concerned with the present and future.

 _Yeah, and if Dolby wasn’t such a dollophead, we’d not have this sodding situation to begin with._ Merlin’s insult slipped in almost effortlessly; the word seemed to suit Dolby quite perfectly. _So get a grip and get back to work. Harry’s fate may just depend on it._

She told the team that dealing with the crisis took precedence, but that didn’t stop her from doing an investigation of her own while she waited for the first reports to come in. Harry had said that they would have a mole within MI-5 and as much as she didn’t want to consider it, there was a possibility that this mole was working in Section D. So she had taken the personnel files and started digging. If the traitor did work here, then he or she could undermine everything they were working on now. She had a duty to find out who it was and put an end to what they were doing.

Now she was staring at Lucas’s file, even if she was very loath to do so. She had seen his bordering-on-suicidal-loyalty during Operation Camelot, but he was also the team member who had the most experience with the Russians and the FSB. He had been held captives by them for eight years and his ex-wife was working for the FSB still as far as she was aware. Yes, he had given them Arkady Kachimov, but in the greater scheme of things, he was barely a blip on the radar. What the Russians were doing now, was much bigger and he could still be a plant, a sleeper, used only when the biggest crisis of the past few years came around.

 _Stop it!_ Ros snapped at herself. _He isn’t a traitor. I know he isn’t_. It was nothing more than intuition and that didn’t count for anything with people like Dolby, but it was often the best asset they had in this line of work.

She was stopped from forcing herself to acknowledge just how naïve this train of thought was by the whooshing of the pods. A moment later they spat out Arthur and Merlin. The latter made a beeline for Jo’s desk – _surprise, surprise_ – as the former marched over to Ros’s. He was excited, judging by the determined spark in his eyes and the way he walked. It appeared to be a good excitement. Ros could not deny her relief, not even to herself this time.

With some amusement she noticed that Arthur did not even look in Dolby’s direction, never mind that he was about to take his report there. She had not expected him to do that; Arthur’s notion of loyalty was to a person, not to the one who just happened to be sitting in the chair in that office. She’d never been so grateful for that before.

‘Found something?’ she asked briskly.

Arthur made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to see if no one was listening in, which fortunately they weren’t. ‘Well…’

Ros interrupted him. ‘Don’t look around you as if you were a nervous junkie smuggling drugs into the country,’ she snapped at him. ‘It’s the classic giveaway for illegal activity.’ Oh, she knew he was on side, but sometimes he was suffering from a case of stupidity that should just be punishable by law. And he needed to work on his spying skills if he was to be any use in this operation.

Arthur visibly only just caught himself before he could make the same mistake again, but he did favour her with the look that told her that he was the king and she could not address him in such a manner. Ros didn’t care. In here he was her subordinate. What he did in Camelot was his business, but here he did as he was told or else he was welcome to a visit to the paper archive.

‘What did you find?’ There was no doubt he had found something; the excited facial expression was indication enough and Arthur could not keep a secret to save his life.

‘He’s in Russia,’ the king reported. ‘There was a note in the book next to te phone: _Flight to hell, 5.15 am_. Everything else was in blue ink, that was in black. And there was a phone number as well.’

Ros was torn between complimenting him for his quick mind – because he _had_ done a good job in working it all out – and moaning out loud for the complication this presented. Lucas may be on a black op, or he could be betraying them this very moment. _Then why leave the bloody note and the phone number to go with that?_ The Section Chief was not ready to believe he had truly turned his back on them, but to leave the country just as all hell was breaking loose and it was obvious that there was a traitor at large? That was not the act of an innocent man. Still, there was the note. Surely that had to mean something?

 _Lucas is a very skilled and resourceful operative_ , Harry had once told her. _He could be playing you, knowing how strongly you feel about being loyal to your team._ That was when they had all believed that Lucas had taken Arthur to Morgana. Then he had left them the tracking devices and the _Colleagues are okay_ note. A declaration of loyalty, a plea for trust and a cry for help, she had thought then. This, this was just the same.

And that decided her, and not just because it fit in with her own hopes concerning her colleague. This felt almost exactly the same as it had been during Operation Camelot. Whatever the explanation was, it had to be a good one.

‘Did you try the phone number?’ she demanded, hoping and praying he would say no. Even if Lucas had used a pay as you go phone – most likely since they had not been able to reach him on his normal phone – Arthur’s was registered and there was a good chance that he had been compromised.

Of course that was hoping for too much. ‘Yes.’ He looked altogether pleased with himself.

Ros didn’t reciprocate the sentiment. ‘Bloody fool,’ she hissed at him. ‘You are aware that all our conversations are recorded by internal security?’ Sometimes even a toddler had more common sense than the king of Camelot. She appreciated his efforts, she really did, but sometimes he was too dim for his own good, or hers.

The result was an indignant look. ‘We used code language.’ He drew himself up to his full height, even more effective because she was still sitting down. ‘Dolby won’t have learned anything useful from us.’

Ros sincerely doubted that, but nevertheless gestured for him to carry on talking. After all, the damage was already done. She might as well find out what he had learned. If Dolby would get that information, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t have it. And it may hold some answers. They were in desperate need of those right bloody now.

When information was not forthcoming right away, she fixed him with as stern a look as she could manage. ‘Well, are you going to spit it out already or will you have me wait till Christmas?’

Arthur took a chair, a frown in his forehead as he tried to remember what had been said. ‘He said I should give my regards to you and that he hoped he’d be back soon to annoy you again.’

Despite the risk he’d taken in even mentioning her name to Lucas, Ros could barely stop herself from cracking a relieved smile. Friends only annoy you, they had agreed, which meant Lucas still considered that friendship to be in existence. It could be a ploy still; Harry had warned her that he was skilled and Ros herself had seen him turn people as if it was something he just did between breakfast and lunch, but she didn’t think that this was like that. She had been playing this game for a long time as well, so she should bloody well hope she knew when someone was trying to play her. This did not feel like it, not when their own private code came into it.

‘You mentioned my name?’ She fixed Arthur with as stern a stare as she could manage. Goodness knew she missed a senior presence on the Grid, someone who could give the commands _with_ her. Connie and Malcolm were both senior officers, but they were no leaders. It had been quite obvious that they, so like the junior staff, were all looking to her for guidance. She felt as if she had a bunch of small kids under her wings, all of a particular stupid kind too. _I’m starting to know what Atlas felt like here_.

Arthur snorted dismissively. ‘Of course not. I’m not an idiot.’ _Allow me to disagree_. ‘I told you, we used code language.’

And Arthur and code language were just about as compatible as Ros and medieval fashion sense. ‘ _What_ did you call me?’

‘The emperor of Rome,’ Arthur retorted. He even conjured up something of a lopsided grin that told her he’d spent too much time hanging around Lucas. ‘You remember, right?’

Of course she remembered her own heavily sarcastic reply to Arthur’s first introduction of himself. Unlike a king she could mention, she didn’t deal in stupidity as a daily job. So she didn’t even bother with an answer as she went on. ‘What else?’ They were running out of time here and Arthur was stalling, even if it was probably not deliberately. It was just his way.

‘I needed to tell you that he was fishing and that he’d bring back a big one for you and his dad.’ Arthur’s tone of voice and facial expression told her he was none too charmed by her manners, but Ros could not care. She was too busy decoding Lucas’s message. Fishing would mean that he was looking for information. And he would bring it back for her and for Harry. The fact that he had referred to Harry as his dad could mean that the relationship between them was mending, might even mean that Harry had been the one who had put him up to this. It would not be impossible.

A thought struck her then. What if Lucas had been sent to make contact with a Sugarhorse asset? It would relate to this crisis, Harry being set up _and_ it might offer an explanation for why Lucas had gone to Russia of all places to get this information of a yet unspecified nature. And if that was the case, he could be in tremendous danger, especially with a traitor around who seemed to be far better informed than Ros was comfortable with.

‘ _Shit_ ,’ she cursed.

‘It gets worse,’ Arthur informed her. ‘He told me to tell you we have a bad apple in our “very own little fruit bowl.”’

A traitor on the Grid. Ros insides turned to ice in a matter of seconds. She had feared that would be the case, but she did not have any confirmed information until now. MI-5 was a big organisation and the mole could have been anywhere, until Arthur told her otherwise. And she was in no position to doubt Lucas’s words. Better safe than sorry in this case. And that meant that she didn’t know who to trust anymore. Anyone could be a Russian mole.

She shook her head as she corrected herself. No, not anyone. The ancient additions to the team were out of the question for the obvious reason – although she sure as hell was going to demand answers out of Arthur as to why he had thought it a good idea to take on a young man by the name of Mordred. Had he no knowledge of legends at all? – and so were Ben and Jo. They had not been in the Service for long enough to be involved in anything. She thought she could rule out anyone not on the core team as well. They simply would have no way to get access to the relevant information.

That only left five people: Dolby, Malcolm, Connie, Harry and Lucas. She crossed the last two off the list immediately. Lucas would not be a traitor, she would bet a year’s salary on that, and the same was true for Harry. The problem was that it would not be anything easier to believe of either Malcolm or Connie. Ros may want to pin the blame on Dolby, because she so disliked him, but that would be both unprofessional and unfair. Nevertheless, suspect until proven innocent. She would have to tread with care around him. And she had no evidence whatsoever to base her assessments of Harry and Lucas on either. As she had been taught during training: officers didn’t make their decisions based on personal feelings and intuition. She could not, _would_ not fall into that trap. The rest of the team was already _this_ close to acting like a bunch of headless chickens, so if she lost it, the end would be lost too. _And Sugarhorse as well. Get a grip, Myers._

‘Right,’ she said, knowing it was anything but. ‘Keep this to yourself as long as you can. No idle chatter over a cup of coffee to your magical friend over there, or your new adoring puppy dog,’ she added as an afterthought when she caught sight of Mordred again. ‘Get on to Laurie Werner and arrange a meet. Get everything you can from her on the Russian plans. They’re bound to have assets as well. I don’t care how you get it, just make sure you get it as soon as you can. Threaten her if you have to, but try to minimalize the diplomatic fall-out this time. I’ve got enough of that on my hands as it is already.’

Arthur nodded. ‘They’re not getting anything?’

Ros shot him a wry look. ‘We don’t have anything. But whatever you do, if you as much as mention the words Sugarhorse, Harry or betrayal you won’t be seeing Camelot again. Is that clear?’ Last thing she needed was the cousins all over this.

The king gave a curt nod of the head. ‘I’ll get right onto it.’ 

He was gone before Ros could comment, so she directed her glare at his back. ‘You’d better.’

 

***

 

Merlin had certainly had better days than this one and he knew it. Part of him already regretted coming to London today. Why could Lord Harold not have launched into one of his trademark rants about the new laws on magic? Or maybe a foreign monarch could have stopped by for a discussion about something important as trade. That would have prevented them from coming here just as well.

But that was a selfish thing to be thinking and he knew it well. He owed these people a favour. After Lucas had been rescued, Harry Pearce could have decided to go home and leave the Morgana matter to them. The traitor had been discovered and unmasked, as was the bargain he had struck with them, so their obligation to Camelot had been fulfilled. Morgana was no longer a risk to British security, which was what they normally concerned themselves with. There had been no reason for them to stay, yet they had stayed and they had admittedly played a huge part in killing Morgana. Yes, they had done it out of vengeance, hate and retribution, but they had done it all the same. Harry could very easily have decided that national security in Britain was more important.

And that meant Merlin owed it to him to try and fight for him now that he was falsely accused of treason, because Merlin did not for one second believe that the allegations against him were genuine. He did not know the Section Head well, but that was clear as daylight. Moreover, Ros didn’t believe it either. The warlock was loath to question her judgement after she had gotten the right of it several times in a row during the events that led to Morgana’s death.

He heard a muttered curse from Jo, who had occupied the desk opposite him, as she put the phone back, presumably after the umpteenth official had hung up on her. She had been chasing down phone and email records from the deceased Mr Borkhovin since they arrived and during his brief time away with Arthur that had apparently not changed one bit.

‘Nothing yet?’ he inquired from over a stack of paperwork that detailed Alexander Borkhovin’s personal life.

‘Nothing suspicious from the few people that didn’t hang up on me right away.’ The junior officer sounded frustrated. ‘I need to talk to Connie, see if she’s heard anything useful I might follow up on.’ She shoved her chair back with more force than strictly necessary and stalked off to the intelligence analyst.

Merlin at least could understand that feeling, but not for the same reason. He was being kept out of the loop deliberately by his king and Miss Death-Glare Myers and he didn’t know why. What he did know was that it was frustrating. He knew Arthur didn’t trust him around Mordred, but this was not about Mordred now, was it? Ros’s motivations were a little clearer, but not much.

Arthur had only told him the bare minimum and had even gone as far as to send him to check the guest bedroom extensively for clues while he made the phone call to the person Merlin strongly suspected to be Lucas. He had listened in, but they had been using code speech and Merlin had not been able to learn anything from Arthur’s end of the conversation, nothing he didn’t already know.

 _Merlin is here, but he doesn’t count_. That was something Arthur had said. It was a flippant comment, probably nothing more than just a joke, but it hurt all the same. Lately he was feeling like he was being pushed to the side-lines, his place stolen by Mordred and Lucas. Good grief, even Ros seemed to be more important than Merlin these days, given the fact that Arthur had practically run over to the Section Chief’s desk the moment they had emerged from the pods. They had been having their tête-à-tête ever since.

When they first came here, Arthur had been the useless one and Merlin had been the quickest to adapt. Now it seemed their roles had been reversed. The king moved around here as if he had been working with Section D for years and his servant was the one who felt lost now. He still didn’t entirely get what the crisis was all about – that explanation too had been for Arthur’s ears only – and now he was investigating a man’s death without knowing how it even related to this crisis. There was more to it and it had to do with Harry’s arrest and Lucas’s mysterious disappearance, but what exactly it was, was still not clear.

‘You’ve been avoiding me, Emrys.’

The remark came rather suddenly, startling Merlin out of his musings which had long since lost any relation to the file he had been looking at. Nevertheless he thought he concealed his reaction well, giving off the impression that he had not heard Mordred’s words. If anything, talking to the soon-to-be knight was not very high on his to-do list.

‘ _Emrys_.’ The name was in his mind as well as in the air this time.

Merlin swivelled his head in Mordred’s direction. ‘Don’t. Do. That.’ The low hiss came from between clenched teeth. He had hated that from the start. It felt as if Mordred was actually in his head, not a thing he’d like in any other situation, never mind in the one they were in right now. Mordred was an enemy of Arthur’s and therefore one of his, even if the king was still in denial. ‘You can’t do that in here,’ he added, looking up just long enough to favour the boy with as stern a look as he could manage. With any luck it had the Ros Myers quality he’d been aiming for. ‘If Dolby catches wind of this, we’ll both be in more trouble than we’d like.’

Mordred’s head turned in the direction of the office, where Dolby could be seen rapping orders into a phone while he studied the contents of a file in front of him at the same time, rendering Merlin’s warning rather unnecessary.

And Mordred knew that too. ‘Emrys, why are you avoiding me?’ He at least heeded the warning to not use the mind-talk again, for which he should be grateful.

But he was not planning on answering that question and at least he had a good excuse to ignore the lad for now. He had a file to study and Ros would not be pleased if she were to find out he’d spent the day chatting with his archenemy. He reached out for a few papers he needed, only to find that they had gone from the desk and were now held by Mordred, who looked unwilling to part with them.

Reluctantly he had to admit that the lad was clever. Too clever maybe. ‘I have not been avoiding you,’ he replied, knowing full well that he had. The honest answer however would have been ‘Because I don’t trust you’ and that was something he felt he could not say, not yet at least.

Mordred didn’t buy it. ‘Yes, you have,’ he said forcefully. ‘Don’t lie to me. You’ve been hostile to me since I saved your life.’ He threw up his hands, papers still in them, in the air in what appeared to be exasperation. ‘And I don’t understand it. You and I are on the same side. We both mean to help Arthur.’ The expression on his face softened somewhat. ‘We both have magic.’

 _That doesn’t change anything_. It might even make matters worse. ‘ _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget,_ ’ he quoted. Unlike Mordred, he was not even trying to play the sympathy card. Softening up would not help him here.

It might, though. The memory of Lucas, driven to go to the extremes partly because of Merlin’s harsh and unforgiving attitude was still fresh in his mind. How much of this would be a self-fulfilling prophecy if he wasn’t careful? He could do the same again: drive Mordred to hate him, hate Camelot, hate Arthur and all just because Merlin found himself incapable to ignore a prophecy that, if Arthur was right about this, had already been prevented. Could he take that risk?

The answer presented itself immediately. Yes, he could. He could, because the alternative was exposing Arthur to danger and that he could never stand for. Lucas had once accused him of not being able to do whatever it took, and he was determined to prove the man wrong.

‘You can’t be telling me that has all changed now,’ he said sharply.

Mordred looked like he was a little out of his depth, desperate maybe even in a way. ‘You cannot be holding that against me now, surely?’ he asked incredulously.

Merlin’s stern look at him answered that he did.

The incredulity increased in tenfold. ‘I only was a child then!’ he exclaimed. ‘This happened years ago. I didn’t know what I was saying. Or doing.’ The last two words were spoken in a way that suggested he was ashamed of what had happened then.

And that was something Merlin found altogether difficult to believe. ‘You had just killed three Camelot guards in cold blood,’ he retorted icily. He may have interpreted Lucas’s actions in the wrong way, but there was no chance he could make that mistake here. Murder was murder and he had seen it. Lucas at least had never sunk that low. This was not the same situation, no matter what Arthur liked to think. Mordred had already proven to be one very dangerous enemy. ‘Tell me how that was not a conscious decision.’ He was fully aware that he was sounding like the Section Chief more and more by the minute. Normally that would have vexed him, today not so much.

This time he received a wry look for his troubles. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve always been in complete control of your powers?’

He hadn’t. Goodness knew he’d driven his mother to madness by levitating objects he hadn’t been meaning to levitate, accidentally changing the colour of old man Simmons’s coat and setting fire to the neighbours’ laundry. But that was still a long way from killing anyone.

Mordred interpreted his silence in the wrong way. ‘I was scared, Emrys, and angry. I panicked. Yes, I wanted to get away from the guards and the knights, but I swear to you that I never intended for those men to die. My powers, they got away from me.’ He shook his head. ‘I did not know how to control and use my gift then and the panic didn’t help. All I wanted was to get away. I had no reason to trust them after all.’

Merlin eyed him warily. ‘And you do now?’ he asked disbelievingly. ‘Suddenly you just happen to appear, out of the blue, saving our lives at the most opportune moment imaginable.’ He’d found that suspicious right from the start, even if Arthur did not seem bothered with it in any way. ‘Is all suddenly forgiven and forgotten now?’

It was clearly visible that Mordred was getting annoyed. And when he spoke, it was audible too. ‘I am a Druid, Merlin.’ The warlock wondered if he had gone down in said Druid’s opinion now that he was no longer addressed by his official Druid name. ‘I was allowed by the law to return to Camelot without having to fear for my life. Change truly is coming at last. Merlin, even you cannot deny that. And you know the prophecies. You know what Arthur is destined to do.’ The enthusiasm was unmistakable now.

 _And I know what you are destined to do, even if you’ve conveniently forgotten about it_. ‘I do know them,’ he replied coolly.

The very non-enthusiastic reply clearly didn’t register on Mordred’s radar. ‘Everything we’ve been hoping for is finally happening and I want to be there to see it. Don’t you understand?’ He almost pleaded his case.

As it was, the warlock understood that better than anyone; it had been his life’s work. Of course he wanted to see it come true. _Which is why Mordred needs to disappear_. ‘I am just looking out for him,’ he pointed out, making it look like this had nothing to do with Mordred at all, even when it was obvious that it had.

Mordred fixed him with a sad look as he finally gave Merlin his papers back. ‘I am not an enemy.’

Merlin could not in all truth agree with that and so he looked frantically for a distraction, finding one in the returning figure of Jo, with Connie, looking like a very dissatisfied duck the way she walked, hot on her heels. It was like an answer to his prayers.

‘Anything?’ he asked as the junior officer took her seat again.

She pulled a face. ‘So far the Russians have shut down every avenue we could explore.’ She threw in a snort. ‘And to think that I thought those MI-6 leads sounded quite strong… Nothing. There’s just nothing.’

Connie caught up then. ‘Are you surprised?’

Jo shook her head. ‘No. It’s almost…’ Here she hesitated. ‘It’s almost as if they know we’re digging and are trying to stop us from poking our noses in.’ She turned to Connie. ‘And I still can’t quite believe what they’re accusing Harry of, can you?’ To Merlin it sounded like a plea for reassurance.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ the elderly woman said. ‘I’m just surprised they’re taking so long to realise their own stupidity.’

Merlin didn’t really know the intelligence analyst, not well enough to like her anyway, but they were in agreement over this. He might even start to like her for it.

This newfound liking was short-lived though when Connie turned to him. ‘Anything interesting in that file, Merlin?’ she inquired as she looked at it, which would mean that she knew full well he hadn’t read a letter since Jo had left. Fortunately she saved him at least from having to give an honest answer to that by pre-empting it herself. ‘We’re dealing with a crisis here, young man, not a tea party. Do get back to work and save the chatter for the lunch break. You as well,’ she added with a stern look at Mordred. ‘No dawdling on _this_ floor. Ros!’ She marched on without sparing either of them as much as a second glance, leaving the two of them as if they were chastised school boys, equal in that regard. It was only when he was about to return to the file that he realised that Arthur was nowhere in sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Ros fears she’s going paranoid and Arthur renews his acquaintance with Miss Werner.


	7. Chapter 7

Ros was starting to fear she might come down with a case of extreme paranoia. The moment she had learned that there was a traitor in their very own “little fruit bowl” practically everyone had become a potential traitor and nothing anyone said could be taken at face value anymore. And Ros hated that. Outside of work they could never be really honest with anyone, not even their own families – those who had them, that was – and colleagues were the only ones they could be open with. That principle however had now gone right out of the window. All of this, combined with the crisis they were still facing and Dolby making himself comfortable in Harry’s office, made her snappy and ill-tempered. For goodness sake, Merlin and Mordred seemed to be thinking this was the best time to start playing at interrogation, of all things to do. Had Arthur and Merlin perhaps magically taken each other’s personality or something?

But it didn’t matter now. What did was that they were just as close as to finding out what Borkhovin’s death had to do with the missile defence shield crisis as they had been when they set out on their quest of finding answers. Answers had not been found, frustration had.

 _Don’t you dare give up, Myers_ , she reprimanded herself. _They’re looking to you so you’d better keep that head of yours and do something_. And there was a small ray of light on the horizon. Lucas was fishing, for a big fish that, if she had interpreted his message right, would get all of them out of trouble. Not an excessive luxury, more like a bloody necessity of life. If she was very lucky, he may even identify their traitor. _If the FSB doesn’t get to him first._

Well, that was the reason she kept her mouth well and truly shut about what she knew. Ros could do silent like the grave. The thought that she had come dangerously close to being _in_ one she banished to the back of her head. She didn’t have time for sentimentality. She had leads to chase and however gloomy it may look, they were not yet defeated. With any luck Arthur would get something useful from the CIA and Lucas was still out there too. Since he would not exactly be volunteering for another eight year stay in one of the FSB’s five star resorts, he would take care. She didn’t need to ask it of him. It didn’t stop her from worrying though.

 _Stop it!_ she snapped at herself. _He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need you to hold his hand every step of the bloody way._ Ros blamed the friendship. That was the problem with them: they made her care too much and she could not afford it, not while she was the only thing keeping this place from falling apart.

To distract herself she demanded a progress report from Connie, who reported that Borkhovin apparently had been complaining about his heart for months, so his heart attack may still be natural. It could be. Then his death would just be a coincidence. Only the mere thought of the word made Ros’s skin crawl. Coincidence did not exist, not in this line of work. There was more here and she needed to find out whatever the hell it was.

 _I wish Harry was here_. The thought sneaked into her head again and she had to squash it before it could take up permanent residence there and cripple her indefinitely. _Well, he’s not, so deal with it._

Her sense of unease at hearing the word coincidence, even if only in her head, was justified as Malcolm announced that the man who had recently upgraded Borkhovin’s IT systems, someone by the name of Chandra Paturi, had also died of a heart attack three days ago. He, unlike Borkhovin, had lived in Britain and that opened up possibilities, even if Ros inwardly fumed at having yet another possible avenue of investigation cut off at the same time. Whatever this Paturi fellow had seen or done, it was worth killing for and Ros would have given a month’s worth of salary to find out what that was.

‘Another coincidence?’ she asked sarcastically.

Connie tilted her head. ‘You can artificially induce a heart attack.’ Apparently she was thinking along the same lines as Ros.

‘Adenosine,’ Jo understood. ‘You can dose the victim without them knowing, by putting it on a pillow case or a phone receipt…’

 _I know_. And ten to one that it was used to kill both Borkhovin and this IT man. ‘Well, we’re never going to see Borkhovin’s blood reports.’ But even the Russians could not prevent them from investigating their Mr Paturi a bit closer. Malcolm had come across him only by chance, so the FSB might not even know yet they were onto something, which Ros liked to keep that way for now. She turned to Jo. ‘Find out where Chandra Paturi was treated and get hold of his post-mortem reports. See if he was ever given toxicological analysis.’

To her surprise however it was Connie who nodded. ‘I’ll get onto it.’

‘No.’ The refusal had left her mouth before she could even start to think it through and it was only a second later that her brain caught up with her and provided her with a reason for her behaviour. However much she disliked it, Connie was still on the list of people who could be the traitor and her eagerness to see to something that could be a major lead had set Ros’s alarm bells off straight away. Post-mortem results were easy tampered with, as she knew from experience. She needed someone she could trust for the full hundred per cent on this. When all this was resolved and the intelligence analyst’s name had been cleared, then she would apologise. Until then, she needed to keep her guard up. ‘Jo, you do that,’ she ordered. To try and take the edge of the harshness of her command, not something she particularly excelled in, she handed the personnel files to Connie. Nothing in there anyone could do something with, she hoped. ‘Connie, take this lot back downstairs. Make sure Dolby doesn’t see it.’

Everyone walked back to their desks, but Ros followed Malcolm. ‘Adenosine is a naturally occurring substance,’ he stressed. ‘There’s no reason for a pathologist to find it suspicious.’

Ros almost froze into place. What the hell was going on here? Was the technician now trying to make her believe that this was nothing she should be paying attention to? Like a traitor would do? She hated herself for her suspicion and instant wariness, yet another approach to this might cost her dearly if she trusted someone who might be working against them. Colleagues had suddenly ceased to be okay and Ros could feel the poisonous air of distrust infecting the Grid again. And she hated it with a passion.

‘In fact, it might not even show up if the post-mortem was more than twenty-four hours after death,’ Malcolm went on.

If he was the traitor, which Ros sincerely hoped he was not – her hopes were still firmly pinned on Dollophead Dolby – then the slightest slip-up could give her away. So she settled for a relaxed tone of voice as she replied. ‘Well, we’ll just have to only hope it wasn’t.’

‘Swindon General are sending over Paturi’s post-mortem report,’ Jo called. It was a good thing she called then, because Ros was about to lose it. Normally she would have relied on Malcolm and Connie in the absence of Harry, but now they were the very people she strongly suspected of treason. In this case, she truly was on her own.

Malcolm turned at her, eyes pleading, even if the rest of his face was just as composed as it usually was. ‘You don’t believe any of this, do you?’

Ros could only just suppress the urge to snort. ‘What do you think?’ Harry, a traitor? No, there were many things she could accept and there were even less things that took her by surprise these days, not after so long in the Service, but if Harry did turn out to be the mole, then she just might go into shock. And after that, she would probably resign. If she had been fooled so much by the man who was almost like a father to her, then it would be time to stop, because the job she did would not make any sense anymore after such an event. But she didn’t think Harry really was a traitor. He _must_ have been set up. ‘You go on,’ she told Malcolm. ‘I’ll be right behind.’ When he nodded, she called Merlin over. No matter how reluctant she would be to treat Harry as a mole, she needed to be sure and there was no way she would be allowed anywhere near that interrogation room. But there were more ways to skin a cat.

‘Ros?’ The warlock sounded a bit nervous, obviously suspected a dressing down for his unprofessional behaviour earlier, as he well should.

‘Harry’s being questioned in one of the interrogation rooms downstairs,’ she informed him. ‘I need to know what is going on in there.’

Fortunately she didn’t have to spell it out for him this time. Understanding already dawned on his face. ‘How am I going to do that if Dolby can’t know?’ he wondered.  Well, at least he realised that Dolby should be kept out of the loop as much as possible, even when he demonstrated a remarkable inability to think a solution up for himself. Well, clearly one couldn’t have everything.

‘None of my business,’ she told him. ‘I don’t care if you have to go to the bloody loo or that you’ll have to lock yourself in some broom cupboard or other to get some privacy. Just do as you’re told.’ She knew she sounded too dismissive. Technically he wasn’t even one of her subordinates and he was doing her a favour by helping them out as it was, but she couldn’t help herself. Tension never did do her social skills any good.

Merlin nodded, but was clearly not ready to leave her alone. ‘Where’s Arthur?’ He almost sounded accusing now, a tone of voice Ros never particularly cared for.

‘Fishing,’ she replied curtly. ‘He’ll be back.’ And when she saw this was unlikely to do the trick of reassuring him, she added: ‘For heaven’s sake, Merlin, he’s a grown man! He’s not in any danger. The main risk he’s in is that he’ll be bored to death. Or annoyed to death. Either one. Miss Werner always did lack originality.’

She could see he got it, because he nodded and then turned around to do what he had been told to do. Ros marched over to Jo’s desk, who held out a sheaf of papers for her to read. She explained that he had been given a full post-mortem after the heart attack and that the pathologist had been having suspicions, because the level of adenosine was four times what was normal. Murder. It was bloody murder.

She was just having this light bulb moment when Richard Dolby poked his suspicious head in, demanding what was going on.

 _A tea party, sir_. The sarcastic remark was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back only just in time. ‘We think we have a lead on what really happened to Borkhovin,’ she answered, not bothering to look at him as she did so. Dolby may have taken control of Harry’s office, but that didn’t mean she would treat him with the same respect that she showed her real boss. The fact that he was practically radiating smugness did not make her like him any better.

‘Good,’ Dolby said. ‘Because I’ve just heard from the Home Secretary. He’s on his way. So we have very little time left to work out what the hell we can tell the Americans about what Moscow are going to do next.’

Ros was about to bite his head off for even suggesting that they were just here to do the CIA’s dirty work for them. Heaven knew Ros was well aware that the CIA had a few tricks up their sleeve when a situation asked for it, so they must be desperate if they didn’t think they could handle it themselves and sent in MI-5 to work it out instead. _And we are even more fools for giving them what they want_ , the Section Chief thought venomously. She wouldn’t make the mistake of operating with a group like Yalta ever again, but that didn’t make their objectives any less true, just their methods wrong. _We’re acting like bloody lapdogs for the Americans, playing go and fetch for them whenever they choose._

But that sentiment would have to stay inside her head for now. Harry wouldn’t be helped with her losing her job over such a stupid thing. Instead she relayed the information they had learned about Chandra Paturi’s death from between clenched teeth with an icy edge of politeness that everyone in their senses knew was just a prelude to trouble.

‘So, the Russians are lying,’ Dolby observed. ‘They did kill Borkhovin.’ Ros never thought highly of Dolby’s intelligence, or rather lack thereof, but today he seemed particularly slow on the uptake. As if there had ever been any real doubt about Borkhovin’s death. There hadn’t been in her mind.

The urge to reward the dollophead with a scathing put-down for his efforts might have been too strong for her if at that moment Ben had not come in, announcing that Borkhovin’s file had been requested an awful – and therefore suspicious – lot of times. And the man who signed it out every time was named Hugo Prince.

She could not show her reaction to the world, but for her more and more pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. Hugo Prince had been one of the men who had worked on the Sugarhorse operation. He had been the one to request the file on Borkhovin. Could that really mean that he had been a Sugarhorse asset?

 _Hold your horses_ , Myers, she told herself. After all, it did not have to mean what she thought it meant. She knew the trap of connecting completely unrelated dots just because it was convenient. They needed proof before she would allow herself to float this idea, and even then she would only do so reluctantly. Dolby, after all, could still be the mole she was searching for.

Aforementioned proof was promptly provided to her by Malcolm, who had dug up a photograph of Borkhovin’s post-mortem the Russians had posted on the net. There was something on his shoulder, which would make for the most important element in the photo, apart from them seeing that Borkhovin was really dead, which was old news to all those present. One of them may even have known about it before the deed was actually done.

‘What’s that mark on his shoulder?’ she demanded, since no one else did. ‘Can you get it closer?’ A feeling in her gut told her this would turn up something she might not at all like, but shying away from the bad things in life had never been known to help them catch the terrorists before.

Malcolm did as she asked and the screen threw up something that vaguely looked like a horse, standing on a pedestal of some kind. A chill went down her spine. ‘Closer still?’ she asked. The tension was seeping through in her voice, though. She may be eager to connect some dots, but it would be quite difficult to not connect them when everything pointed in one direction only.

Her worst fears were confirmed when they got a better look at the tattoo on Borkhovin’s shoulder. A rearing horse and not just any horse: Sugarhorse. Borkhovin was a Sugarhorse asset.

 

***

 

It was somewhat of a relief to slip back behind the mask of his persona, Arthur found. For one thing, Aidan Parker was a lot more at ease in the world of spies and intelligence than Arthur Pendragon. Aidan knew what to do, how to act and he could conjure up put-downs of which Ros Myers might have approved, reluctantly though, mind. He also was nowhere near nervous about meeting with Laurie Werner.

That was one of the few things he actually had in common with Arthur. The king of Camelot was very much not impressed by the CIA liaison officer. Ros had once summarised her as consisting of crisp suit, silly smile and very limited intelligence with a touch of fake friendliness perfume and Arthur was not yet convinced she was wrong. Laurie Werner did have an incredibly big mouth though, but she was no match for Arthur, who at least could pride himself on having an even bigger one, according to Merlin. No worries on that account then.

Heaven knew there were plenty of other accounts to worry on; Harry, Lucas and that whole Sugarhorse business being right on top of the list. And the big question of it all was why he cared so much. Well, why he cared about Lucas was rather obvious. The man had almost gotten himself killed for Arthur’s sake. Harry was a trickier case. But the spooks boss had been nice to him, had offered him aid in times of dire need. Therefore he should care and about the operation that was now exposed just when it was needed most. He owed a debt of life to these people. To turn away now would be a betrayal. And Arthur had seen far too much of that in his life already.

Arthur had not been in London as much as Merlin. He’d been here during what the spooks called Operation Camelot and only one time after. He was not as confident as Merlin about moving through London traffic and he sure didn’t like all the crowds in the street. It made him feel like there were too many people packed in too little space. And here he was thinking that Camelot markets were crowded.

Fortunately the area the safe house was in was relatively abandoned. That of course would be because the houses there had clearly fallen into disrepair and nobody seemed to care enough to change anything about that. At least it would mean that he would not have any eavesdroppers and that was a welcome thought.

This time Laurie Werner had beaten him there. Last time, Arthur recalled, he had been the first in. Clearly Miss Werner had felt she would be at a disadvantage if she would be the one to arrive last. Arthur could even see the truth in that. For some reason she made him feel like a little boy being late for some important appointment, which was certainly not the case. In fact, he was ten minutes early.

‘Mr Parker.’ The fake friendliness surrounded her like a cloak. ‘I do hope that this is important. As you may be aware, my country has a major diplomatic crisis to deal with.’

Which Arthur by now knew all about. He had spent his ride on the bus familiarising himself with the whole missile defence shield issue, with some helpful notes from Connie stuck in. Others never seemed to forget that he was not from here and used to either make fun of it or treat him like an invalid, but Connie was often the only one who made an effort to help him understand and Arthur was grateful for that. Ros was all good and well when he was in need of an ally and Lucas even remembered to stop and explain his words and actions occasionally, but if the intelligence analyst hadn’t taken pity – even if Arthur hated the word more than he could say – on him early on, he’d be lost still in this day and age. Now, he was getting by. He was still feeling like he was playing a game that was too complex for him and he was on his toes all the time, but with some effort he might just manage. And Laurie Werner would take effort, quite a lot of it.

‘Which your country has been so kind as to start themselves,’ he countered. If she was trying to make him feel for her, then she was sure to be disappointed. This mess was of their own making. They should have thought about it a bit more. Arthur snorted. And here Merlin was saying that Arthur never stopped to think about the consequences of his actions. ‘What’s more, you’re trying to get us to do the dirty work for you. Hardly fair, I would say.’ His temper was urging him to give her his best Ros Myers imitation, but that might be bad for the relationship between Thames House and Grosvenor Square. He had caused an uproar already last time with his threats of exposing the American involvement in the station bombing and he had strict orders from the woman he would imitate not to annoy Miss Werner too much. As it was, it was probably best to listen to her this once.

‘We have been informed your intelligence on the Russian plans is unsurpassed.’ Laurie neatly dodged the first accusation and threw the latter back at him. Arthur corrected his assessment of her: she was not stupid, she was shrewd and far more experienced in this game than he was.

‘Surely an agency such as yours won’t have no intelligence at all to go on,’ Arthur pointed out to her. ‘And if my colleagues are going to do your dirty work for you, we’d like to have access to all the information you have in order to work more efficiently.’ He’d hung around Ros and her particular brand of diplomacy for too long, he feared. He didn’t even sound like himself anymore. The words were all Ros’s.

Laurie seemed untouched by this as well. ‘Are you telling me you don’t have anything to give me?’ There was a righteous indignity in her voice that vexed the king of Camelot to no end.

But two could play that game. ‘I was under the impression I would be the one getting something first,’ he said, leaving the ball in her court, which the woman did not seem to like at all.

‘Excuse me,’ she said indignantly. ‘But I’m afraid you have not yet understood what special relationship means.’

‘Well, it would seem that a special relationship means that intelligence is shared on both sides and that help should go both ways as well. How remarkable though that there only ever seems to be a special relationship when it suits your country. When we require some help, say in acquiring a certain file, or getting anything that might be of use to work out what the Russians are currently doing as a result of your actions, I feel obliged to point out, then the special relationship suddenly experiences a few minor blips.’ He sincerely hoped this wasn’t her country’s policy, but it seemed to be Laurie Werner’s and Arthur did not like it one bit.

‘Are you accusing me of obstructing your investigation?’ She got angrier all the time.

‘I don’t know,’ Arthur said, using a trick he’d used before. ‘Are you?’

If anything, he’d gotten right under her skin. ‘This just gets better and better!’ she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. ‘Now you’re what? Telling me we’re responsible for the lack of progress you’ve been making?’

Arthur’s first impulse would have been to ask how she knew that there was next to no progress, but he could stop himself at the last possible second. This could just be guessing and this meeting might indicate that they were in need of help, or they wouldn’t have asked for it. ‘You are proving to be extremely uncooperative,’ he said instead. ‘And I cannot help but wonder why that is.’ He used the tone of voice he used on Merlin when he wanted to be certain that the servant knew he was in deep trouble, topping it off with the threatening smile he saved for occasions such as those. ‘And you can hardly blame my team for not dealing with a crisis that was not ours in the making. You should have known what kind of reaction the missile defence shield plans would have on the Russians.’

She side-stepped that as well. ‘I thought you were a specialist on the Middle East, Mr Parker, not Russia.’

‘Even a child could have told you the foolishness of such plans,’ Arthur said dismissively. ‘I am gifted with a brain and capable of using it. I would advise your government to start doing the same.’ The last remark had quite escaped him, for he certainly had not meant to say it. Ros’s warnings were still vividly present in his mind, but controlling his temper had never been a strong point of Arthur’s. And he got the uneasy feeling the woman was hiding something. The fact that he could not work out what it was, was not doing his mood any favours at all.

‘I’m sorry, are you insulting me?’ Her voice got higher the more agitated she became.

 _If only you_ were _sorry_. ‘No, I think you’re not telling me everything you know about the Russian plans. Is there something you don’t want me to know?’

He was quite sure that was the case in fact. If Ros’s rants about Americans had taught him one thing, it was that they were not very eager to share what they knew. Their reluctance to hand over Bob Hogan’s file and their all but refusal to give them anything now just proved it to him.

‘Mr Parker, I think you are forgetting yourself.’ Laurie seemed to be in a fluster.

And that made Arthur wonder. She was reluctant to share anything, yes, but there seemed to be something else as well. One could only take reluctance that far before it was starting to get suspicious. ‘You don’t know anything,’ he said. It was a guess, but one he thought would be worth the risk of taking. ‘You’re not telling me anything, because you don’t know anything about what the Russians are planning yourself. I think you’re desperate for good intelligence now that the Russians are running amok far worse than you had expected over your precious missile defence shield, so desperate that you’re even involving MI-5, when it is clear that you don’t want us involved in the first place. We’re your last hope, aren’t we?’

One look at Laurie’s face told him that for possibly the first time in his life, he had been absolutely spot on. That might shut Merlin up when he was accusing Arthur of having no intuition again. Today proved that he did have it, and apparently he had quite a lot of it as well. To be honest, he felt rather pleased with himself. He was doing something useful for a change, even if this still meant that another avenue of investigation was shut down, rendering this visit absolutely meaningless. It was a waste of his time.

‘Mr Parker…’ Miss Werner began. This time he was capable of detecting the bravado in her voice. It was more pronounced now that her mask of indignity had been taken away from her. Arthur considered it a job well done.

But Arthur was done wasting time. ‘Next time, Miss Werner, you might want to say that right away, instead of making me waste precious time here trying to acquire reliable intelligence. Why do you not have anything to give me?’ If he had been ben informed correctly, then the CIA knew something about everything, even if it wasn’t very much. To have no information at all, that was strange.

‘Because all our contacts have gone dead.’ Laurie sounded a bit exasperated and reluctant at the same time. And Arthur thought he may even understand that. After all, it didn’t take an expert to establish that this was unlikely to mean well for anybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Merlin practises his magical spying. PLease review? I'd like to hear your opinion.


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin felt very uncomfortable about leaving Mordred on the Grid unsupervised while he carried out Ros’s order. But it could not be helped. At least Jo seemed to be keeping an eye on the young Druid. She seemed to sense something was off without him telling her. He was grateful for small mercies, although, without Arthur nearby, he didn’t think there would be any immediate danger. Mordred was a threat, true enough, but he was mostly a threat to Arthur. Other people were quite safe. And Mordred seemed to be so far out of his depth that Merlin sincerely doubted he would be able to think of murder and treason anyway. It should be safe for him to leave for a while and, as per Ros’s instructions, hide in a broom cupboard.

It had not been very eloquently phrased and Merlin did not think he would ever be friends with the woman. Good grief, he didn’t think he’d ever come to even like her, but he found that, as time progressed, he started to respect her. She was harsh and about as friendly as a starving lion, but she kept her head even when the whole world fell around her. And then there was that unwavering loyalty of hers to the people she cared about. There weren’t very many of those, but Harry and Lucas were persons she very much cared for and just for a brief moment he had seen just how much. _I need to know what is going on in there_. That was what she’d said, but the warlock was convinced that she hadn’t meant to emphasise the word need, almost as if she was begging. Ros Myers did not beg. Not until today at the very least. And there was one thing of which he could be absolutely certain: she had not meant for him to see it and to comment on it would be as good a death sentence as handing the executioner his sword himself. And he was not about to do that.

Strangely enough, this made him respect the woman only more actually. It showed that she was human, just like the rest of them. She too could be vulnerable and insecure, she was just better at hiding it than most people.

But her command was easier said than done. If Dolby wasn’t to catch wind of what he was up to – and he should not poke his nose in, because spying on this interrogation was without a doubt all kinds of illegal – then he had to get away from the Grid unseen or at least inconspicuous. And given the fact that he would need a bowl with water for his task, that was going to be something of a stretch.

Well, a bowl was found easily enough. Those were kept in the small kitchen just off the Grid, where everyone went to make themselves coffee, because it had been collectively decided that the coffee emerging from the instant coffee machine was only fit to poison people with. The bowl they’d used to spy on Lucas’s meeting with Morgana two months ago had come from here. It would serve for his purposes as well, if he could get his hands on it and smuggle it from the Grid.

That was of course the problem. Dolby was watching this place like a hawk and he was hardly going to let Merlin walk off with a bowl that did not seem to serve any purpose at all. And the thing was too big to hide under his shirt, his preferred method of smuggling objects past guards who were not meant to see what he was up to.

‘Problems, Merlin?’ an amused voice asked.

The warlock turned around to see Connie. The intelligence analyst clearly thought she had caught him dawdling again, and, if he was not quick, she was sure to comment on it. ‘Yes,’ he replied. He pointed to the bowl in his hand. ‘I need to get this off the Grid without Dolby noticing.’ He could imagine Ros’s reaction when she found out he had blabbed details of his mission around all too well, but the fact was that he needed some help now and it was not as if he had told Connie what exactly he had been told to do. As long as he didn’t do that, he’d be fine.

Connie tutted disapprovingly. ‘I’m not sure what Ros would think of it, young man,’ she commented.

Merlin then understood that she had taken this the wrong way. She thought he was suspecting Lucas of doing something illegal again, but that was not what he had on his mind. ‘No, no, it’s not that,’ he said quickly. ‘She asked me to do it, to check up on Harry.’ Right, so now he had told her what he was up to, but given Connie’s anger at the treatment of her boss, she was hardly going to object now, was she? _I’m just surprised they’re taking so long to realise their own stupidity_ , she’d said. She didn’t believe that Harry was a traitor any more than Merlin did.

She smiled in understanding. ‘Leave Dolby to me,’ she said, the twinkling in her eyes betraying that she had already some kind of plan. ‘Give me two minutes and then get off the Grid as fast as you can.’

Merlin favoured her with his most dazzling smile. ‘Thank you, Connie.’ He may start to like the woman after all.

‘And act normal,’ she all but snapped, as if to undo all the liking he’d just found for her. ‘No running or looking over your shoulder like a startled criminal running from the police.’ She marched back to the Grid before Merlin could have formulated a coherent reply to that. Well, it was hard to like Connie, but she was devoted to her work and for one reason or another she seemed to have started to take a liking to the king of Camelot, treating him like she would a young, inexperienced recruit to the team.

He gave her the two minutes and then followed her instructions. He walked across the Grid, bowl under one arm and a newspaper he’d snatched from an unsuspecting officer’s desk in his free hand to cover the bowl from sight. As much as he was trying not to steal a glance at the office, he did it anyway, but Connie had kept word. She was keeping Dolby’s attention on a lot of files she had deposited in front of the spy boss and even if he would look up, her body would still block most of the area around the pods from view. The warlock found he liked the woman better with the second.

He didn’t have a very intimate knowledge of Thames House yet, but the broom cupboard was not all that hard to find, since it said so on the door. It was cramped, but it would have to do and at least Dolby was unlikely to come looking for him here. And that was what he needed for his mission. But to be sure that no one would come in, he magically locked the door behind him. Better safe than sorry.

The bowl was easily filled with the water he’d put in a water bottle. Merlin was starting to feel a little nervous now, fully aware that this was considered illegal in Dolby’s book, but then, he’d rather take his orders from Ros, even though he still did not like her. At least they were on the same side.

The spell was difficult still, but easier to perform every time he cast it. The difficulty now was that he did not exactly know in which interrogation room Harry was being held, which complicated matters somewhat. It took him three interrogation rooms and then minutes, before he finally found one that had people in it.

There were two of them, two men. They were seated on opposite ends of the table. One of them Merlin recognised almost immediately as Harry Pearce, but he was different somehow from the Harry Pearce Merlin had come to know. The Section Head was usually dressed in a suit and tie, crisp and clean. He wasn’t dressed in the usual suit now. Instead he was wearing something the warlock didn’t have a name for, but it made him look old and vulnerable somehow, not something he particularly liked.

Because it was just wrong. Harry Pearce was the kind of man who was always in control of things and when he wasn’t, he pretended that he was all the same. The team needed that, because if they did not have Harry as the steady rock, the whole team might just fall apart. Merlin had already seen it happening. Ros was taking charge, but nerves were frayed and tempers were short. Add to that the fact that so far they had next to no results and the chaos was as good as complete.

The other man in the room Merlin had an immediate dislike of. He bore an expression on his face the warlock so far had only witnessed on the faces of villains. This man was clearly the interrogator and he seemed to be taking a lot of pleasure in that job. Now there was something infinitely wrong. Interrogations may be necessary at times, but that was supposed to be all they ever were: a necessity. It should never be a pleasure.

‘Betrayal is a lonely business, isn’t it, Harry?’ the interrogator said. He sounded totally relaxed and Merlin’s stomach clenched in reaction.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Harry said forcefully. He may look weakened, but he sounded as determined as ever. In fact, Merlin thought he sounded rather angry.

‘That secret feeling of power fades so quickly.’ The other man went on as if Harry had not spoken at all. Merlin even thought he saw a hint of a smile on his face. ‘And the only thing that can bring it back is more betrayal. But the irony is that each betrayal can only lead deeper into the loneliness you were trying to escape from in the first place.’ He looked Harry right in the eye now. ‘I’m here to help you, to release you from your loneliness.’ This time there was a real smile.

It made Merlin want to vomit on the spot. After a few visits to the twenty-first century he thought he understood at least the basics of how this society worked. He understood the world of intelligence to a certain extent and had, thanks to Lucas, a rather good idea of what happened to traitors and captured spies. He knew that the Senior Case Officer had gone through a great deal of physical torture at the hands of the Russians.

But this was unexpected and in a way even more wicked to him. This man, this interrogator, was not doing any physical torture as far as he could see, but he was playing mind games. Pretending to be here to help Harry, while he was only trying to get him to talk, that was low. It was not the right thing to be doing. There was no honour in it, none at all. These were dirty tricks.

 _Then accept the fact that someday somewhere someone will kill your king_ , Lucas had once told him. _Because that is what happens when you choose to stay on that precious moral high ground of yours_. The spy had spoken in anger, as if Merlin did not understand the world he lived in at all. It was only now that the warlock came to realise that Lucas had been right in that assumption.

There was no moral high ground in that cell. There was just danger; backstabbing and mind tricks. Maybe this interrogator did what he did for the greater good, but if this was how the greater good was served, then Merlin was not sure he wanted to be a part of that. True, he would do everything in his power to save Arthur, but he would _never_ sink _that_ low.

Harry seemed to become irritated as well, but Merlin personally thought it was closer to anxiety and frustration than mere annoyance. ‘The only help I need is in apprehending Qualtrough and working out how he framed me.’

Qualtrough. Merlin had never heard the name before, but it was an important one if Harry believed him to be responsible for framing him. Merlin had not entertained the idea of Harry being guilty of treason before and he wouldn’t start doing so now, so he had to treat it as important information.

The interrogator had gotten up and walked over to a table, fidgeting with some objects Merlin could not see clearly. ‘I did make some inquiries after you mentioned him earlier,’ he said. ‘I learned that Bernard Qualtrough has been a permanent resident of Bangkok for the past twelve years. Apparently he loves the climate. Either way he hasn’t set foot in the UK since 1996.’

Not for the first time Merlin wished he knew more about what was going on. He doubted it would be the last time either. What was going on here? What was that man doing? Who was this Qualtrough?

‘No,’ Harry said, sounding more panicked now. ‘He is in this country now. He is in this country, because he forged that dossier you’ve been reading.’

Qualtrough, false dossier, probably in the UK. Merlin hated the way his mind worked now, collecting information as if he was a real spy, with no consideration for the people he extracted that information from. Part of him wanted to magically transport into that cell to blow that interrogator to smithereens, but he was not allowed to. Instead he had to sit here, gathering intelligence at someone else’s expense. It made him feel sick. If this was what it meant to be a spy, Merlin was not sure he had what it took. He didn’t think he ever _wanted_ to have what it took.

‘Give me the names of your assets, Harry.’ The other man went on as if Harry had not spoken at all, dismissing the information he had been given as worthless. ‘And this can all be over very quickly.’ To Merlin it sounded like a threat.

This time it was Harry who did the ignoring. ‘You’ll have to go to his book shop.’

‘There is no book shop,’ the interrogator said.

‘It’s in Greenwich,’ Harry went on.

‘The names, Harry,’ the other man insisted. The longer this went on, the more threatening he sounded. Merlin didn’t even know exactly why, but he felt that this was about to go all horribly wrong.

‘Listen to me!’ Harry’s voice was building up to a shout. ‘I can’t give you the names. If I give you the names, it will destroy the network! It will just lead the FSB straight to them!’

Merlin was on the verge of wondering what network and what assets Harry was referring to, when he noticed the needle that man stuck in Harry’s neck, making the Section Head gasp at first and then slam on the table over and over again.

And the warlock could not stop himself from gasping too, nor could he stop himself from backing away from the scene in the bowl in disgust. His stomach was turning, and he was close to losing his breakfast on the floor of this broom cupboard. Because he knew what needles were used for, and it was not just for sewing in this day and age. He knew that from experience.

In this time, Jo had explained, sedatives didn’t just have to be mixed into food or drinks, but it could also be put directly in one’s blood by using needles. All kinds of drugs could easily be admitted to a person. They could be used for good, like they did in hospitals, but there were ways to use them for ill as well.

Merlin himself had been dosed with some kind of pain reliever when he had been forced to visit a hospital three weeks ago after having made a nasty fall from the stairs in Thames House, courtesy of his own legendary clumsiness. The doctors had dosed him with something while they stitched him up. True, he hadn’t felt any pain, but he had felt quaint for hours after. And something told him that Harry had not been given an innocent pain reliever at all. This was something far more harmful.

And he just couldn’t watch it. He couldn’t. Besides, he’d seen far more than he ever even wanted to see. There was information to be brought to Ros, sooner rather than later. This must be worse than any of them had been expecting and yet at the same time he hated himself for being so relieved that they had obtained some information at least.

He stared at the bowl. Yes, there was something he could contribute to this operation and strangely enough it had been Ros who knew how he could. And Lucas was still out there somewhere. The Section Chief was worried for him too, he knew.

The plan had formed before he could even begin to stop himself. He stepped back and looked back into the water. Finding his focus was more difficult now, because he was searching for a specific person and not a place, like he was used to doing. The spell failed the first few times, but then the water showed a small room with not a lot of light and then he saw the man he was looking for, sitting on a chair, waiting…

 

***

 

Finding the small flat belonging to Maria Korachevsky had not been a difficult feat. He had memorised the route to it from a map while he was still on the plane. He had ditched the map and had navigated his way to the flat on memory. Lucas was sure that he had no FSB company for the duration of the trip. If they were aware of his presence in Moscow, they did not know where to start looking for him and that was a relief.

But he still hadn’t met the asset and he was nowhere near London still. Last time he had met his asset before he had been snatched from the street like a common criminal. Maybe the FSB were just biding their time, waiting to see who he would meet and then taking both him and the asset, like they had done last time.

 _Get a grip, North_. His mental voice gave him a mental kick in the behind. Wallowing in sentimentality would not do him any favours after all.

He had knocked on the door when he arrived, but was met by silence. That didn’t matter though. There were more ways to get into a building apart from being admitted by the person who owned it and as a spy, Lucas knew most of them. It took him half a minute before the lock gave way and he was inside.

The flat was tiny and sparsely lit. Maria Korachevsky seemed to live in a flat with only three rooms: bathroom, kitchen and living-and-bedroom. There was one light on the bedside table that was still burning and that was necessary, because the curtains were all closed. It was also entirely empty and Lucas found he let out a relieved sigh; part of him had been expecting a welcome committee. Now that there was none in sight, he found he could relax.

But only just a little. He was not back in London yet and until then he would be running on adrenaline. But he had a few moments’ respite as he waited for Harry’s asset to come home. It was the middle of the day, so she was likely to be at work, whatever that work may be. If he was right in his assumption that this woman was a Sugarhorse asset, then it would be safe to say that she worked somewhere high up, close to or in the government.

He waited for what felt like hours, but his watch told him was only a mere fifty minutes. But they were uneasy minutes. Every noise outside was a possible FSB snatch squad to him and he caught himself holding his breath until he was sure they were gone. Spooks paranoia, he knew, but paranoia had saved him a few times already.

So it was hard that when he did hear footsteps outside eventually to remain seated and wait for the lock to be turned. At the same time this reassured him; the FSB didn’t trouble themselves with locks and keys. If they wanted entrance, they smashed the door in. The only locks they used, were situated on cell doors, he knew from bitter experience.

The door swung open and revealed a woman of about Harry’s age, greying hair and old-fashioned clothes. If anything, she seemed to belong in this room. Maria Korachevsky was not very tall; Lucas didn’t think she’d even reach his shoulders if he were standing.

She was intelligent, though. For a moment, when she first saw him, she seemed to freeze into place. Lucas feared she would start calling for help, but then realisation dawned and she closed the door behind her, instead of doing a runner, as everyone in their senses would have done when they found a stranger in their house. Well, anyone who was not a spy would act in such a manner. Spies were of a different mould. They sought out the danger when anyone else would run. If anything, that told this particular spy that he had met the right woman.

He held out the ring with the blue stone to her and she came a little closer to study it. After that she gave a curt nod and moved away again to put on the radio. The voice of mumbling Russian voices filled the room.

It sent a chill down Lucas’s spine. ‘ _Are they listening_?’ he asked in a whisper. If this woman thought she was under surveillance, then that would justify her actions. It was a classic trick to use a radio or a television to drown out the sounds of a conversation taking place. Suddenly this place felt awfully like a prison cell with no escape routes. His hands felt sweaty.

‘ _Naturally_ ,’ the woman replied, as if this was old news to her and she could no longer truly care about it. And that was disturbing in and out of itself.

But if he went to pieces now, that would put the whole operation in jeopardy and that he could not stand for. He had a job to do and therefore he reached in his pocket and pulled out a plane ticket. ‘ _He gave me this for you_ ,’ he explained as she examined her way out of Russia. ‘Are you ready?’

The woman looked up in what appeared to be exasperation at his question. ‘I have been ready for fifteen years,’ she pointed out. ‘But poor Harry, this must be serious if it has come to this.’

Lucas could not bear to think of just how serious things might be at home. Arthur had told him more than was good for his peace of mind. Harry had been arrested, Dolby had taken over control of Section D and somewhere there was still a traitor on the loose, a traitor who might just make a habit of selling him out to the Russians. Yes, things were serious, but he could not tell Miss Korachevsky just how serious. ‘Harry asked me to apologise for not being in touch.’ That was the message he had been asked to give and it was a better alternative than telling the truth. ‘He said that he hoped you’d understand.’

Maria Korachevsky made a sound that might pass as a snort and then said something in Russian.

‘When you love someone, everything is understood,’ he translated, wondering briefly what kind of relationship his boss had with this woman, before he decided that it was none of his business to know. Spies had little enough personal lives as it was, so they must be allowed to keep some part of it to themselves.

‘Gorky,’ she said with a chuckle, approving, he supposed.

But this was no time to quote literature. If the FSB was listening, then there was no time to lose. To be honest, the sooner he was out of here, the better it would be. For all he knew they were already on their way and he was in no mood to be dragged back to one of the hellholes that passed for prisons in this country. ‘Do you have what we need?’ he asked, a little more harshly than he ought to have perhaps, but he was ill at ease. At least it was a consolation that he was a great deal more polite than Ros Myers, not that one could get any less polite, for that matter.

‘I had to plant the package,’ she said and Lucas tried to hide the chill that went down his spine as he realised that his mission was far from over. In fact, it might even be that he only just started out on his journey. That was not a prospect one could call tempting. ‘It is one thing if I get picked up, but this is too important to lose.’

Of course, Lucas meant to say, but the words got stuck in his throat. Speaking as an intelligence officer, he would agree with her. It was the Ros Myers Conduct Protocol: work first, everything else later. But he had been in a prison and he, as a person, longed to say that she did not know what she was saying. She may have grown up in this country and may take the risk of getting picked up every day, but she did not know what it was truly like. For her sake he hoped she would never have any reason to find out.

And so he stuck to being professional. ‘Where will I find it?’

Maria Korachevsky turned around and wrote something down on a piece of paper, which she then handed back to him. ‘I hope it contains what you need,’ she said. ‘Café Bedouin. You will find a friend there.’

Lucas merely nodded as he committed the name to memory. For form’s sake he accepted the piece of paper, but he already knew that he would get rid of it as soon as he could, burn it if he could do so inconspicuously. He would have to make it unreadable first and foremost. Paper trails were very dangerous things and the less people that knew about where he would be going, the better it would be. At least the FSB wouldn’t learn it from a piece of paper.

‘You will have to be on your guard,’ she added. ‘I intercepted messages to my superior. They’re looking for you. They know already that you’re not in London.’

 _And they made an educated guess where I might be. Or they were told_. It took him all the self-restraint he had not to shiver.

‘Next thing they’ll do is check the flight manifest,’ the woman went on. ‘You cannot leave Moscow under the same name.’

The nerves were turning his stomach into knots. Last time he at least had not known that he was being hunted. This time was different. Lucas found that the anticipation made things all the worse. But he was not yet detained, not yet back in prison. He was still free, still capable of trying to outwit them. ‘Can you get me another identity?’ he demanded.

‘I have done that already,’ she said, as if it was nothing important at all. Lucas realised that the message to her superior must include his name and a few photographs if she had been able to create a false passport with it. It would also account for her appearing not frightened at all when she found him in her home; she already knew his job, his name and what he looked like.

At the same time though this was an alarming development. His cover was blown wide open and it could not be long before he would have the FSB after him in a full-blown witch-hunt. Whatever it was that was going on, it had the Russians extremely tetchy already. Just how much had they found out about Sugarhorse since he had been interrogated about it?

‘My friend will give you the documents you need to get out of Russia,’ she said, studying him closely. Lucas had the unpleasant feeling she knew what was going on inside his head.

‘Harry said you were formidable,’ Lucas said. Well, he’d written it on a piece of paper he’d found in the envelope, more like. Now he saw the truth of that for himself. Formidable this woman was indeed to have taken such steps already. And she had done it for a stranger too. She must have taken great risks to do all of this and he could not deny that he felt touched.

‘We were well matched,’ Maria said wryly.

Lucas nodded; he could see that. Harry was not all that different. He made for the door.

Her voice called him back. ‘Be careful. They will be everywhere.’

He knew that and how he dreaded it. But there was not much choice and he had some skills in counter-surveillance. _You’re still fighting, North. Don’t you dare give up_. Ros Myers would scold him for this attitude, should she be here to see it. And she would be right to do that too. This was not the way he should behave, not while he was still on an op.

‘Maria, it won’t take them long to notice what you’ve done,’ he said. He didn’t even know why he used her first name, maybe because thanking someone who had risked so much with just a formal acknowledgement felt wrong to him.

‘I’ll be on a flight to London,’ she countered briskly. For a moment there she reminded him closely of a certain Section Chief.

And for Maria’s sake, he hoped that she would make it there in time. She was kind and had risked a lot for him. If she made it out, he would search her out to thank her properly, he promised himself. He owed her that, but now was not the time for it.

As he exited the building he made a mental list of what to do. Go to Café Bedouin, get the package and get back to London as soon as he could. Having a goal helped him to keep his head. Harry was still interrogated, he imagined and his information was vital to get him released. He hoped so anyway. _I hope it contains what you need_ , Maria had said. She was not certain herself. But it was all he had to go on. Things truly were that desperate. But there was also still hope, he had to remind himself.

He was close to the street when his newfound hope went right down the drain again. Two men, both clad in dark clothes, made a run for the courtyard he was currently in. One of them seemed to be reaching for a gun. They might as well have had a neon sign with ‘FSB’ above their heads.

His first impulse was to throw himself against the column that was only half a meter away from him, hiding behind it, but he suppressed it. That would draw the attention to him if it was seen. Instead he walked around it, which hided him mostly from sight as the two men ran past on the other side. They did not seem to see him and Lucas exhaled in relief as they appeared out of sight. That had been a very close call.

But he also knew that right now a kind elderly woman was in danger of experiencing Russian hell for herself. If he had any compassion he would go back to help. He may not have a weapon, but he was an experienced fighter if need be.

But he could almost hear Ros’s scolding if he acted like that, risking the operation for a woman who had just outlived her usefulness. It was cold and unfeeling, but that was the way she worked and it had to be the way he worked as well. There was too much on the line to risk everything for the sake of one person, no matter how kind she had been.

And so with heavy heart he turned to the street and Café Bedouin. If he could not help her, he could at least make sure that her sacrifice had not been for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Arthur gives Dolby a piece of his mind. And don’t worry, I’ve not forgotten about Mordred. He just needs a little time.  
> Please review?


	9. Chapter 9

_Borkhovin was a Sugarhorse asset_. It was only when the silence around her became so uncomfortable that Ros realised that she had spoken out loud. That had not been her intention and anyone who knew her could tell that if anyone was in control of their tongue, it would be Ros Myers. Today, shock had made her more talkative than she liked by far.

And one of the reasons for that dislike was Richard Dolby, whose face was taking on most of the characteristics of an overripe tomato. ‘How do you know about Sugarhorse?’ he shouted. Ros resisted the urge to dive out of the way of the saliva that she expected to accompany his indignant shouting.

‘Shall we take this to your office, sir?’ she asked pleasantly. Heaven only knew what she had put at risk by blabbing such a piece of information in front of a potential traitor. Now she was sure that they knew that she knew and that was a development she could have done without. The least she could do now was to contain the damage.

That seemed to make him realise that they were not alone and that there was in fact a lot of unauthorised personnel watching the exchange. And she had the good fortune of his phone starting to ring just in that moment. Normally he might have verbally torn her to shreds – if she’d let him – but now he settled for a glare that was supposed to pass as scaring. Ros was not impressed; she had been on the receiving end of Harry’s often enough. ‘My office, five minutes!’ he snapped at her as he turned and answered his phone.

Ros bristled at the possessive pronoun, but kept her silence. She was in trouble enough as it was. _Just wait until Harry’s proven innocent and back in that office. Then we’ll see who’s laughing last, you bloody bastard_. She was not afraid to face Dolby, not in the very least. She’d seen too much to be frightened by one of the officer class, who sat in a chair all day letting the traitor pull so much wool over his eyes that he didn’t know right from wrong anymore, although Ros would have to admit that confusing Dolby might not have been such a feat, considering how little brains there seemed to be in his head.

It would however be nice to have a knight in shining armour with her. As if the king of Camelot had read her mind, he chose that moment to emerge from the pods, with a face that looked rather disgruntled. This did nothing whatsoever to trigger any alarm bells though; Laurie Werner had that effect on everyone, not just the legendary King Arthur.

‘Nothing,’ he reported as he joined her. If he felt the curiosity radiating off the other team members, he did not show it. ‘All their assets have gone quiet.’ It was only then that he seemed to register that something on the Grid was not as it was supposed to be. ‘What happened?’

Ros took a moment to glare at the others. ‘What is this, a bloody theatre show?’ she snapped. ‘We have a crisis to deal with!’

There was some muttering, some of which might have been a bit ashamed, but the Section Chief could not care. She had other and better things to occupy her mind. From now on she would need to be more careful. The traitor was probably on the Grid itself and would by now be aware that she knew about Sugarhorse. That meant that there were very little people she could trust until the traitor had been revealed. Jo, Ben, Arthur and Merlin. Everyone else, and that still included Richard Dolby, could be a threat.

‘You, with me,’ she told Arthur. He may be hopeless at spying, but he was a loyal sort of man, the kind to stick with his friends even when things got dangerous. He’d risk his life for them if need be. And he had the additional bonus of not being able to stand Dolby. She could face that man on her own perfectly, but to have Arthur there might swing the odds in her favour beyond the shadow of a doubt. Friends Arthur and she would never be, but maybe they could try to be colleagues. She found she was in need of those.

‘What happened?’ Arthur demanded when the others had left.

‘Borkhovin was a Sugarhorse asset,’ she reported. ‘And Dolby knows I know about it. I’ve been called to the carpet to answer for that crime.’

Arthur needed all of three seconds to connect the dots and then fury marred his face. ‘I’m coming with you.’ Arthur really was the knight in shining armour. Ros suspected that it was the way he was brought up, but she was grateful for it. And she wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to get one over Dolby, who might still be a traitor. One way or another, she’d have to find out who it was, preferably without alerting any of the people she still had under suspicion. Jo and Ben were needed too much on the Grid to have them dig into the traitor issue and Malcolm and Connie were suspects until further notice. With both Harry and Lucas gone, that made her list of opportunities rather short. In fact, it left only Arthur and Merlin. She had her doubts about those, wasn’t even sure if their spying skills were up to scratch, but she may not have much of a choice. She’d have to risk it.

‘Don’t be surprised at anything I say,’ she told Arthur as they walked over to the office. ‘Just play along.’ He should be able to do that, she hoped.

She didn’t bother to knock before she ushered Arthur into Harry’s office and followed suit herself, closing the door firmly behind her. Dolby had been on the phone, but clearly Ros’s arrival took precedence over whatever it was that had needed his urgent attention before. He was already on the verge of saying something – more like doing an attempt to bite her head off, Ros observed – when he caught sight of the king of Camelot.

‘What is _he_ doing here?’ he demanded.

Ros conjured up her sweetest smile. Her subordinates knew they were in trouble whenever that was directed at them. ‘Harry briefed us about Sugarhorse,’ she answered. It was not entirely true, since she was the one to brief Arthur, but that was none of Dolby’s concern. The less he knew, the better it would be. ‘He was trying to save the operation.’ And a lot of good it had done, what with Borkhovin being as dead as the proverbial doornail.

Dolby’s glare should have made her drop dead on the floor. ‘By telling unauthorised personnel about its existence?’

Ros was trying to bite back a scathing remark about how she was at least competent, which was more than she could say about the man behind Harry’s desk. ‘Whoever leaked that image is sending us a message that they’re onto our network,’ Ros pointed out, quite unnecessarily in her opinion, but then Dolby was the type that needed things spelled out for him. ‘If Harry was a mole, why would he expose himself like that?’ Even a child could have thought of this, which spoke for Dolby’s lack of intelligence. This was of course old news.

‘Because the damage is already done. He’s already leaked the names.’ Dolby was speaking slowly, as if he was talking to a particular stupid child. ‘When Hugo died, Harry and I split his assets. We never knew each other’s, but we both knew Hugo’s. Now an asset Harry took on has been murdered, just when we might have needed him.’

 _That doesn’t mean Harry is responsible_ , Ros meant to say. Arthur beat her to it. ‘And that makes Harry your only suspect?’ he demanded. ‘You’re saying you knew about Borkhovin as well.’ There was a barely concealed accusation in the king’s words and Dolby wasn’t thick enough to miss it. The angry glare now settled on the king of Camelot, who seemed wholly unimpressed.

Ros stepped in before things could get ugly. She appreciated Arthur’s input, but she’d have hoped that he understood the need to watch his tongue. After all, she had taken him with her more to cower Dolby into cooperating than that she had taken him to make an active contribution to the meeting. It was not his job to make matters worse. ‘Someone could have gotten to the names through Hugo Prince,’ she pointed out, stepping on Arthur’s toes to make him get the message that he should proceed with caution should he want to start out on his righteous crusade to make Dolby see sense.

Dolby sputtered out an explanation of how he had known Hugo as well as he had known his own family. Ros idly wondered how anyone in this line of work could know their family at all with the hours they were working in this job – provided they were still in touch with their families – but refrained from commenting until Dolby began to babble on about the proof he had of Harry’s guilt, pushing a file over the desk at her. ‘Hugo wasn’t a traitor,’ he stated as if it was a fact. ‘If you care to look at it, I have proof of who was.’ The smug expression on his face made Ros want to spit in his face.

 _I most definitely don’t care to_. The Section Chief was tempted to shred it, burn it or feed it to Harry’s dog, who at least had the good sense to treat that pathetic excuse for a file as it should be treated, but nothing in the world would persuade her to read the sorry thing. ‘Anyone can fake a dossier,’ she said. It took all her efforts not to explode in true Arthurian fashion.

Her words seemed to miss their target. ‘Lucas North never arrived,’ Dollophead Dolby observed. ‘Caught up in traffic?’

Ros knew full well what the man behind that desk was implying and she hated him for it. _Flight to hell_ , Lucas had written. She knew that was what it was to him. She might have entertained doubts about him when he had just returned, but those doubts had long since gone. Lucas was no traitor, yet people always seemed to suspect him first when there was something wrong. It grated on Ros’s every nerve and, if Arthur’s expression was any indication, she was not alone in that. ‘Who knows?’ she said, unable to bite back a scathing comment. ‘London traffic can be quite a bother.’

‘If you know where he is, you have to tell me,’ Dolby said. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

 _So that you can sell him out to the FSB? I don’t think so, no_. Maybe she _was_ going paranoid. Suddenly she was seeing traitors everywhere. Good grief, keep this up and she would be as bad as Connie, who smelled Russians everywhere. But given the current situation, Ros had to admit that the intelligence analyst may have a point after all. ‘Wherever he is, I know he’s not a double agent.’ Colleagues are okay. At least that colleague was okay, even if she could no longer be sure about the rest of them. Malcolm had tried to dissuade her from looking into Chandra Paturi’s death, Connie had offered to deal with the matter of his post-mortem in spite of Ros having given the job to Jo and now Richard Dolby was trying to get her to reveal Lucas’s location. What if there wasn’t just one traitor? What if there were two or, heaven forbid, three?

Dolby was trying to out-glare her, and failing. ‘The first Sugarhorse asset has been murdered,’ he reminded her. ‘Soon others will be too.’

‘Then I suggest you get off that chair and start doing something.’ Ros should not have been surprised that Arthur lost his patience and exploded before she did. If she was really honest, then she had to admit that she was surprised it had actually taken him this long to lose his patience with their temporary – she at least hoped so – boss. Of course it was only when he started to take it out on Lucas that he lost it. Looking at it that way, it was hardly surprising that he acted the way he did. He considered Lucas a friend and Arthur Pendragon was nothing if not loyal to his friends.

Dolby however did a good job of ignoring Arthur. It could also be that he was too busy ranting that he had not heard Arthur in the first place, which was a distinct possibility. ‘By the time the US and Russia sit down to thrash this out, our intelligence on Russia will be a joke, unless you can force Harry into giving up his names, before they are killed.’

Now her blood reached boiling point as well. ‘You want me to use Harry’s team to prove that he is a traitor?’ She had to keep her arms folded across her chest to stop herself from making good on the urge to drag Dolby over the desk and march him off the premises by force. Heaven knew she was tempted to. What the hell did Dolby think he was doing? Was he completely insane? She had told him that this team was utterly loyal to Harry Pearce and now he expected that they were going to cooperate?

Arthur’s thoughts ran along another line. He was angry too, that much was obvious, but clearly for other reasons too. ‘Well, then perhaps you can start debriefing your own assets or are they all so useless that they have nothing to useful to say? Can’t say I’m that surprised, seeing what a dollophead the man who recruited them is.’ Arthur was glaring daggers at Dolby and Ros could not even blame him for it.

Under any other circumstance she might have laughed at the face that man was pulling at hearing Arthur’s words. Dollophead was not a common insult – as far as she was aware, it was not even a word at all – but the recipient got the gist of it. Ros was more or less surprised there was no steam coming out of his ears. ‘It is not your place to question my orders!’ he bristled.

‘I’m questioning your actions,’ Arthur countered. He may be a bit more capable to handle himself in the twenty-first century than he had been the first time he visited. He may even be a bit more skilled in spying than he had been and he certainly had become quite a bit more manipulating, but there were things that never changed. His unwavering loyalty to those he considered friends was one thing, his inability to keep his big mouth shut when he needed to was quite another, a trait Ros now cursed. She was not the most tactful person around, but even she knew better than to court danger in such a way. Arthur would do well to remember that he was not in Camelot, where he could throw people in the dungeons whenever they acted in a way that displeased him. But Arthur was like a bull who’d seen a red flag once he got warmed up and there was no stopping him now. ‘And your sanity. You’ve worked with Harry for years. You should know better than to think that he was a traitor. I’ve only worked with him for a couple of months and even I can see that.’ He huffed indignantly. ‘And then to think that Merlin says I am an idiot.’

Ros knew they would both regret this later, but at the moment she enjoyed the triumphant feeling of seeing Richard Dolby stare at the Once and Future King with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. And goodness knew the bloody man deserved it after his venomous words from just now.

She took advantage of his temporary speechlessness to make her escape. ‘If that’s all, sir, we have a crisis to deal with.’ She delivered the line with her most professional smile, the one that never quite reached her eyes. ‘If you’ll excuse us?’

She made for the door without waiting for an answer. Dolby was unlikely to remain flabbergasted for long and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him when he did find his tongue again. And it would seem that there was a little bit of luck left to her in the world, because the moment she stepped foot on the Grid, the pods whooshed and the Home Secretary entered, effectively ensuring that Dolby’s attention would be elsewhere for the next half hour. _Saved by the politician_ , she thought wryly. _Wonders never cease._

 

***

 

Merlin practically ran through the corridors of Thames House back to the Grid. He would have bumped into quite a fair number of people were it not for his experience in weaving his way through crowds born of running after or for Arthur through the castle of Camelot. He ducked out of the way of a man in suit and tie and dived past a woman who clutched a sheaf of papers to her chest, flashing her a smile by way of an apology for startling her with his racing past her.

His heart wasn’t in those smiles though. He had seen too much for that today. Seeing what was being done to Harry in this very building had made him feel sick to his stomach already, but it were the events in Moscow that had truly shocked him to the core. Initially he had mostly been relieved that Lucas was alive and well, even though the woman he had met had said something about people looking for the spy, which was an alarming development in and out of itself.

But that had not been what had left him feeling cold inside, with a desperate urge to vomit on the spot. It was what had happened after Lucas’s departure that had made him feel like this. The woman – Lucas had called her Maria – had been packing a suitcase when the door to her flat had been forcefully thrown open and two men had come in, with guns. Maria’s movements had stilled and she took a deep breath, almost as if she knew what was coming. The next moment she fell on the bed, dead, shot by the two men who had broken into the sparsely lit flat. The worst of it was that the murderers exited again with hardly a look at their victim and when they were back on the street, they started to talk in a tone of voice that suggested that their actions meant nothing much to them.

That was when he had vomited, in the bowl with water. It had disrupted the vision, but Merlin had seen more than enough anyway. So he had magically vanished the water and his own sick and left the broom cupboard he’d hidden in to search for Ros Myers and tell her what he had seen. At least he was in no danger of forgetting any of it in the foreseeable future. The visions had been burned on his mind’s eye and he was sure they would haunt his nightmares for months to come.

This world, this age, even for all its wonders, seemed a crueller age than where he came from. Well, he would not be as naïve as to say that Camelot was peaceful all the time, but it was the people’s attitude that had him in a state of shock for half the time. Heaven knew that Merlin had seen more than his fair share of humanity’s cruelty, but mostly he did not bear witness to murders such as these.

He passed the pods, emerging just after the Home Secretary and some of his followers. He had only met Nicholas Blake in person once, during Operation Camelot, but he had seen him a couple of times on a television screen as well, enough to recognise him when he encountered him. But the Home Secretary didn’t usually come on the Grid. Harry and Ros went to see him in Whitehall, never the other way around. That did not bode well, Merlin knew.

But the Home Secretary was not truly his problem now. He needed to find Ros and report to her what he knew. A quick glance around the room taught him that she was nowhere to be seen. Connie was seated at her own desk, with Mordred on the chair next to her. It looked like she had taken the Druid under her wing the way she had done Arthur when they had first come here. Malcolm, Jo and Ben were huddling together near Jo’s desk, but there was no sign of either Ros or Arthur.

As if called, the two of them exited Harry’s office that moment. Arthur looked like he had been faced with the prospect of having to make nice with King Alined and Ros gave every impression of being seriously displeased as well. Merlin could not truly blame them for acting in such a manner, considering who it was they had just been meeting in that office.

Ros saw him first and made a beeline for him. ‘Found anything?’ she demanded briskly. Only her eyes betrayed that she might be out of sorts, the rest of her was as composed as ever.

He gave a curt nod. ‘Yes.’ He glanced at the Home Secretary, not sure if this was something that could be discussed in public. Given Ros’s order for secrecy, he rather doubted it.

But his report might have to wait, because Mr Blake had announced that he wanted to see Richard Dolby, who came walking over to them with a too bright smile and an attitude that reminded the warlock of a puppy eager to play go and fetch with its master.

‘I just had a call from MI-6,’ the Home Secretary announced. ‘A second Russian official has been found dead. Her name was Maria Korachevsky, she was a senior civil servant in Russia’s nuclear program.’

Nicholas Blake kept on talking, but Merlin didn’t hear him. It was as if someone had stuffed his ears and he only heard sounds coming through from afar. But they did not make any sense, not anymore. Because this name meant something to him. Well, the first name did. Maria. The woman Lucas had been talking to had been called Maria and she had been working for MI-5. She had been killed shortly after Lucas had left. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. Connie had once told him that coincidence did not exist in this line of work and she had been right. There had to be more to this.

He felt himself go all cold inside. What was really going on here? What was he missing? What were Arthur and Ros keeping from him? So far it seemed as if they were the only two who were fully in the know about what happened here and it frustrated Merlin to no end, as much as it frightened him too. Something big was going down, he felt, and it was all connected to Harry being arrested as a traitor and the Americans’ plan to build a missile defence shield in Poland. He was no fool, no matter what Ros and Arthur thought.

He had seen the reactions of king and Section Chief too and neither boded well. Alarm flashed across Arthur’s face and he exchanged a glance with Ros, who seemed to have gone rigid. She could have turned into a stone statue for all Merlin knew.

But she was the Section Chief for a reason. ‘Sir, if you want us to work out what is going on and do something about it, I believe the team would be more effective if they were granted full authorisation to the relevant information.’ The only sign that she was not her usual snappy self was the far more subdued tone of voice. Ros Myers didn’t do shocked, but she sure came close to it now, which worried the warlock only more. Something was terribly wrong, but at least she explained why he had not been told what was really going on; it simply was above his clearance level. There was no ulterior motive and neither was he being deliberately shut out. _But then why has Arthur been told?_

Richard Dolby looked far too pleased with himself when he answered. ‘No,’ he said immediately and dismissively. ‘You’re all tainted by your association with Harry Pearce.’ He even sounded like he was enjoying this.

Arthur looked like he wanted to challenge the man to single combat, a fight to the death, but Ros’s death glare prevented him from making good on that intention. Now there was a novel thing to be seen. Arthur didn’t usually listen to anyone who told him he could not tear into a person who had offended him. The Home Secretary was bleating on about how they had to work out what the Russians were up to anyway, in spite of the team not having access to all of the information they needed. It seemed like an impossible thing to be doing.

Richard Dolby took Nicholas Blake into his office, probably for the discussion of more things Section D wasn’t to know. Arthur’s foul look should have burned holes in both their backs, but they reached the office alive and in good health. Merlin was almost surprised.

Ros smiled wryly as the door closed behind the two men. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘If we are going to continue, there are things you deserve to know. Meeting room, five minutes. Arthur, Merlin, my desk, now.’

The shock was still having Merlin in its clutches, but he managed a smile when he realised that Ros had no intention of obeying Dolby’s commands. It was a rule-breaking streak he recognised in himself. And it was a pure Ros Myers attitude: she would do whatever was needed to conclude the operation in a satisfactory manner, orders of her superiors notwithstanding.

So he followed her to her desk and took the chair she commanded him to take. ‘What did you learn?’ she questioned without further ado.

He reported what he had seen in detail, even if it made his stomach almost turn itself upside down.

‘The interrogator, did he have a name?’ Ros asked. A deep frown had crept onto her forehead as she listened, which was still better than the I’m-going-to-kill-the-one-responsible-for-this-look that graced Arthur’s face.

Merlin shook his head. ‘No, not that I know of. Harry did speak of someone named Qualtrough though, Bernard Qualtrough.’ He recalled the name so well because it had sounded queer to him. ‘Harry said that he was the one who had framed him, the one who had faked a dossier of some kind. He’s got a bookshop in Greenwich,’ he added. ‘But the interrogator said that Qualtrough has been living in Bangkok – wherever that may be – for twelve years.’

Ros cursed, even if Arthur looked confused. The name meant obviously more to her than it did to king and warlock. She must have heard it before.

‘You know him?’ Merlin asked.

‘I know of him,’ Ros corrected icily, a tone that suggested she wasn’t going to elaborate. ‘What else?’

‘Just that Qualtrough is probably in the UK now,’ Merlin reported. ‘Ros, I think they drugged Harry. There was a needle and…’

‘I get it.’ The Section Chief was snappy, but Merlin doubted it as directed at him personally. ‘Meeting room, now.’ If there was any indication that she was ill at ease, this was it. Ros Myers would never be the school example of a people’s person, but the tension had burned away what little social skills remained to her.

‘Wait!’ Merlin exclaimed, possibly a little too loud, since several Internal Security officers still hanging around looked up in mild alarm. At least it did the job of stopping Ros in her tracks, but he lowered his voice all the same. ‘I know you didn’t ask me to look out for Lucas, but I did.’

He half expected wary looks and accusations of not trusting the Senior Case Officer still, but Ros’s eyes only briefly betrayed some relief before the usual mask went back on again and she was just the forbidding Section Chief again. ‘What did you bloody well see?’ she prompted when he didn’t speak immediately.

‘He was meeting a woman called Maria,’ Merlin replied. ‘She told him there was information hidden in some café somewhere, that she’d had to plant it.’ He thought hard. ‘Her superiors knew that Lucas was not in London and said that “they” were already looking for him. She got him another identity with the package in that café.’ He swallowed hard to get a grip on himself as he related what had happened next. ‘Ros, after he’d left, two men came in and shot her. I’m not sure, but I think she’s the same as the woman the Home Secretary said has been found dead, Maria Korachevsky. I saw them do it!’

That he certainly did and he passionately wished he hadn’t seen it. That poor woman. She had not deserved her fate. Merlin thought her brave and selfless, because of all the things she had done for Lucas, even though he must have been a stranger to her. It was the same kindness that Gwen possessed, a little ray of goodness in an otherwise harsh world. To kill a person who was like that, that was more than just a crime. It was an abomination.

Ros gave a curt nod to signal that she had heard him.

‘Do you think she was a Sugarhorse asset too?’ Arthur asked.

Merlin did not know yet what Sugarhorse was or what Arthur meant by it, but he had a feeling this was part of the reason why his friend and his temporary boss were so on edge, something that was above his clearance level. Something bigger was going down and he was torn between keeping his patience for a little longer or just asking Ros what the matter was out right.

As it was, she made the decision for him. ‘She was,’ she said. ‘Come.’ She marched off to the meeting room and Merlin had no choice but to follow, hoping that he would at least get some answers now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Lucas makes a discovery and Merlin receives a phone call. Please review?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

Ros was not at all at ease with telling her colleagues about Sugarhorse. With a traitor on the Grid itself that had to be one of the most dangerous things she had ever done, especially since Dolby had explicitly forbidden her from briefing the rest of the team. One of the persons in this room could be the traitor, she was only too well aware of that possibility.

She looked at Connie first, composed as always. There was nothing that seemed to be able to throw the intelligence analyst off balance. No matter how bad the crisis, she always kept her head. It was something Ros modelled her own conduct on, because it worked. She admired the other woman for her sometimes nonchalant ways of dealing with bad situations. But it could work both ways. Connie could be hiding something behind that mask of calm and she would never know for sure by just watching her.

Malcolm looked a bit more stressed. He usually was calmness incarnate, but today he was badly shaken, although most of it seemed due to the invasion of Internal Security and Harry’s arrest. Ros could hardly fault him for that, not with her own peace of mind being currently non-existent, but there could still be another reason why he was upset. And while Ros did not in all honesty want to contemplate that possibility, she knew she had to.

But anyway, her cover was already blown the moment she had so stupidly let it slip that she was aware of Sugarhorse. Most of the team members would not have understood what she meant, but one of them would have. By now she had let go of the ridiculous assumption that either Harry or Lucas was the mole. Lucas was ruled out in that role after what Merlin had seen and Harry? Ros didn’t think she had ever believed treason of him. It was, to say it in Connie’s words, just too absurd. But this only left Connie, Malcolm and Dolby. _So which one is it?_

That was the question and one she would have to work out sooner rather than later, preferably before that horrible man downstairs did God only knows what to her real boss. Ros wished she could scream and pound the walls like an angry child, but the fate of the operation was in her hands, she knew. If she went to pieces, the operation and, consequently, Harry and Lucas were doomed. And Ros Myers was nothing if not a perfectionist. So she kept a calm façade as she relayed the fact that both Borkhovin and Korachevsky had been part of the sleeper network Sugarhorse. ‘It was designed to keep Russian nuclear capability under NATO control,’ she explained. ‘That network is now being destroyed just as Russia plans to turn the missile defence issue into a global crisis.’ _Bloody brilliant of them too_. ‘So, unless we can find out who betrayed the Sugarhorse names and stop them before anyone else dies, we stand to lose any edge we ever had over Russia and any protection against any future attack.’ _So, no pressure at all._

As dangerous as it was to inform their traitor that she was onto them, it was also a relief to share the burden. There were still people she could trust unconditionally and she would use those. Arthur and Merlin were not such burdens as they had once been. Arthur brought his loyalty and sometimes remarkable intellect – should he feel in the mood to bloody well use it – to the table and Merlin had shown initiative and independent thinking as well. Although Ros was never going to admit it, she was grateful that the warlock had taken the time to make sure Lucas was still all right. It did not stop her from worrying, but it helped some.

She found herself looked at by a lot of serious faces. There was shock, but confusion as well and it was Jo who voiced the last sentiment. ‘Why don’t you just give us a list of names so we can pull them out and debrief them?’

‘The network was designed to be unbreakable. Only certain names are known to certain individuals.’ Harry Pearce, Hugo Prince and Richard Dolby. With Hugo Prince being dead, that only left two people, who should have been the only people to know the names. But there were a lot of ways to ferret out things one wasn’t supposed to know and all of them were spies. Anyone could have found out the names if only they had enough time and determination to do it. ‘But no one has the full list,’ she added. They certainly didn’t.

Ben frowned. ‘But Hugo Prince is a link?’ He could hardly conclude otherwise, with Hugo Prince signing out Borkhovin’s file so much.

Ros nodded. ‘Yeah.’ One of the three.

Connie’s face was instantly indignant. ‘Hugo and I were lovers,’ she said, glaring at Ros. ‘I know he wasn’t a traitor.’

 _I beg your pardon?_ That was something Ros had not been aware of. It certainly had not been in the personnel files she had been digging through half of the morning. It certainly did add food to the thought that Connie was the traitor, if she had been so close to Hugo Prince. It were his assets that were being murdered now, after all. It just disagreed with Connie’s obvious and much voiced dislike of Russia and the KGB.

Ben was the one to reassure Connie that this was not what he had intended. He was the one to drop the next bomb on them though. He had done a little digging of his own and had thus found out that the last time Mr Prince had taken the file on Borkhovin was on September twenty-third 2003. The only problem with that was that Hugo Prince had died on September twenty-second. Ben didn’t need to state the obvious, that this person who was not Hugo Prince could be the traitor they were looking for.

Ros had never even liked the junior officer – too much history there – but right now, if she were a more spontaneous and affectionate woman, she could have hugged him for providing her with an avenue to explore. She’d had more than enough of chasing shadows and suspicions for which there did not seem to be any ground. This, however, was something they could actually check out and that was a very welcome change.

She ordered him to get down to the archive and find the authorisation slip used to access the file then, after which he was to take it to Malcolm, so that he could unleash his machinery on it. Malcolm was still on the list for being a traitor, but no one else knew how to manage that machinery in the way Malcolm did. Like it or not, they needed him and Ros had every intention of keeping a close eye on him.

‘Needle in a haystack,’ Connie commented with a pitying look at the junior officer. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No.’ For the second time that day Ros found herself slapping down an offer of help from the intelligence analyst. If Connie was trying to not look like a traitor, then she was doing a very poor job of it. ‘That’s not your job,’ she pointed out sharply. ‘I’ll need you up here. There’ll be an avalanche of chatter once that second death is announced. I’ll need you listening in, find out who the Russians might hit next.’ There, now she had at least made it sound like a normal order, not as if she was suspecting her of doing anything but her job. And that was a good thing, because Ros was not even sure Connie should be suspected of anything. So far she had not really done anything she wouldn’t normally do. It was merely Ros’s attitude that had so drastically changed. Spooks paranoia. Sooner or later they’d all succumb to it, like Connie, who saw Russians lurking behind every corner. Her behaviour could mean nothing. It probably meant nothing. But Ros was rather safe than sorry.

It spoke for the intelligence analyst that she didn’t protest. She merely nodded and stalked off back to the Grid to do what she had been told to do. Ben got up as well and Merlin followed suit. ‘I’ll go,’ he offered. ‘I can try if my magic is any help.’

Merlin was full of surprises today, Ros observed wryly. Earlier he had given every impression of not being very eager to put effort into this operation. He had even gone as far as to start a conversation with Mordred – where was that lad? – about only God knows what. He had been his usual annoying self, until she had sent him to do some magical spying. Apparently he had been so shocked by what he’d seen, that he finally realised what was really at stake here. Well, wonders never ceased.

She nodded her approval and waited until the warlock had left the room and had closed the door behind him. Then she turned to Jo. ‘I want you to pull up everything related to Bernard Qualtrough and the codename Pilgrim.’ She had heard Lucas about this when they were trying to piece together what little he knew about Sugarhorse and anything relating to it. It was something he recalled from his interrogation and Bernard Qualtrough had come up then as well, although they had not been able to work out what he had done then, if he even had done anything. But it was hardly a coincidence that Merlin had overheard Harry naming him as the one who’d forged the dossier.

Still, it wasn’t their traitor. He may be the traitor’s contact, but the mole itself was hidden somewhere in their own little fruit bowl. But there was more than one way to catch a traitor and Ros was determined to utilise every option she had. The more ways she tried, the bigger the chance was that one of them was successful.

Jo nodded and Ros turned to Arthur. ‘You and I are going through a list of every Russian diplomat who has ever made contact with MI-5. If no one can give us the Sugarhorse names, we’ll bloody well have to work it out ourselves.’ Now there was a needle in a haystack job, but it needed to be done.

Arthur gave a curt nod as well, but then, he didn’t know just how hopeless things were yet. The Section Chief found that she almost envied him his ignorance. If she hadn’t known what a long shot this was, then she might be feeling a bit more optimistic too. As it was, she was rather tending towards very realistic pessimism.

And she just felt so bloody alone. _I can’t do this on my own_. The world was collapsing around her and the two very people she would normally have used to lean on, draw strength from in crises like this one, were either interrogated or on the run from the FSB on the other side of Europe. But if she showed any of her unease, her world would not be the only thing to collapse. _So, get back to work, Myers. Wallowing is not going to do you any good._

Jo looked doubtful. ‘You realise that all this could just prove that Harry is the mole?’

Ros had to suppress the strong urge she felt to bang the junior officer’s head against the table top for having the guts to even consider the possibility that Harry was a double agent. The very thought was ridiculous. But maybe her anger was only so near the surface because deep down she realised that Jo’s attitude was, at least at the moment, more professional than Ros’s. And that was a thought she couldn’t stand. She was used to being the one who didn’t let get emotions in the way of an operation.

But she did. Where her team, her colleagues, were considered, she found she was no longer able to distance herself from her work. And Harry had become close to being a father figure to her now that her own father was serving his sentence for trying to overthrow the government in jail. _Families mess with your head._ She had known the truth of that when she had first said that to Lucas and the truth of it became now apparent once again.

She kept her tone of voice calm as she replied. ‘Yeah,’ she said, still not willing to believe it though, not of Harry Pearce. ‘But it’s also our only chance to prove that he isn’t.’

 _So, focus on that_ , she ordered herself. _And get going._ Worried for Harry and Lucas or not, there was still a major diplomatic crisis going down and the single most important operation of the last few decades was being betrayed to the Russians as they were speaking. Her first priority had to be to salvage whatever was left of Sugarhorse and find out what the Russians were planning to do about the missile defence shield issue. Sugarhorse or not, they were still very annoyed with the United Stated at the moment – Ros could hardly blame them for feeling that way; she wasn’t the Americans’ biggest fan either – and it was likely that reprisals of some kind were imminent. With the British thrown into the mix, they may even face reprisals on British soil. The Russians knew about Sugarhorse and were unlikely to be pleased with it.

Jo nodded and left, leaving only Arthur and Ros in the room. The Section Chief did not exactly look forward towards working with the king of Camelot, but no one would be able to accuse him of not being devoted to the job. He cared and sometimes he even gave the impression of knowing what he was doing. He wanted to help.

‘You don’t believe that Harry is a traitor,’ Arthur stated, fixing her with a stare that was almost challenging her to contradict him, after which he might challenge her to single combat to the death or something like that. Arthur Pendragon was too trusting for his own good. It could have been the death of him when he initially refused to believe that his uncle Agravaine was a traitor. He had refused to believe it until he had then solid proof that Agravaine was indeed working with Morgana, plotting his downfall.

There was of course another side to this. he also had an unwavering faith in the people he considered friends and would rather die than let any harm come to them. He had not left a stone unturned when Lucas had been taken by Morgana and he had jumped to his defence when Dolby had started accusing Lucas as well. Harry must have ended up on the list of Arthur’s friends somehow. It made her wonder where she stood.

‘I should bloody well hope not,’ she said dismissively.

Colleagues are okay, Lucas and she had once decided, and sometimes friends could be as well. They also annoyed you time and again. Arthur annoyed her to no end. Might he even be considered a friend sometime? With both Harry and Lucas gone, she found herself in need of them – even if she would rather die than admit to that out loud – especially now that mere colleagues could no longer be truly relied upon.

‘Good,’ Arthur said. ‘Well, shall we?’

‘You are aware I am actually the Section Chief here?’ she asked sardonically.

Arthur shrugged. ‘And I am the king of Camelot, so stop lazing around like Merlin on the morning after a visit to the tavern and let’s get to work.’ He marched out of the meeting room before she had a chance to reply.

Oh yes, Arthur Pendragon annoyed her to no end.

 

***

 

The kitchen wasn’t difficult to find. The woman who had introduced herself as Katerina, one of the poor souls doomed to spend their days in this bar, had been very specific with her instructions. As he descended the stairs that would lead him to the kitchen, constantly scanning the room for any sign of FSB presence, he wondered who she was and why she did what she was doing. She didn’t strike him like the kind of person who was too stupid to do better work. She seemed intelligent.

For a spook it was a very annoying thing to know that there were things he would never know and this was just one of those things he may never find out. He didn’t even think he’d ever see the woman again. The FSB might find out who she was and what she’d done and then she might die the same way Maria Korachevsky surely had. It saddened him, because both Maria and Katerina had been kind to him, even though he was a complete stranger.

Eight years of Russian hell had made him appreciate small kindnesses, for in prison there were almost none of those. Maybe FSB hospitality had a way of changing one’s views on the world; he’d never stopped to appreciate kindnesses like that before. He was more likely to give a curt nod in thanks because it was expected of him and then move on because he really took it for granted.

 _Stop wallowing, North_. His mental voice had gained a lot of Ros Myers qualities over the past few months. _You’ve got a job to do_. Both these women had risked everything to save the information they’d found and help him in bringing it back to London and if he wanted to make those risks worth it, he had to man up and start acting like the Senior Case Officer he was, not the tender-hearted and vulnerable ex-prisoner Harry probably still believed him to be. It was part of the job description to take risks. People died sometimes, died for queen and country, died to protect others. No one would be helped by it if their colleagues and friends stopped doing what they did because of their deaths. Quite the contrary, only by carrying on with their work could they give their passing meaning.

And now was not the time to be wallowing anyway. He was still on an operation and the information he was looking for would be vital. If Arthur had been right and things were truly as bad as he thought them to be, there was no time to lose. Harry’s fate depended on the things he was searching for and that was enough to sort his priorities.

The kitchen seemed abandoned as he entered. It didn’t stop him from checking it out nonetheless. He wished he had a gun at hand, but he was unarmed. It might raise more questions than he wanted to answer if he had tried to bring a firearm into the country and he was trying to pass unnoticed. It didn’t do anything to make him feel safer. He was out on a limb and he knew it.

Lucas took a deep breath and cast a glance around the kitchen in search for the drawers that had been mentioned. Katerina had spoken about them as if they were the only drawers in the whole kitchen, since she had not specified where exactly they could be found. At first glance it was rather hard to see them though. The kitchen was larger than he had expected and the panic was threatening to grip him by the throat, crippling him indefinitely. _The man in the leather jacket is FSB_ , Katerina had said. _They’re looking for you everywhere. I saw him call for a back-up and they will be here in ten minutes._

That should have sufficed to make any spook worth his salt want to run for it. And Lucas was not just any spook. He was a spook with a solid eight years’ experience with FSB nastiness. And he was not about to subject himself to a repeat performance, not while there was still breath in his body. He’d honestly rather die than go through that again.

But ten minutes was not a long time. He would need to hurry up if he wanted to find the package Maria had planted before he would have his tormentors on his heels again. His hands felt sweaty and at the same time he felt cold, chilled to the bone. His heart was racing and he felt like throwing up.

Part of him told him that going back to Russia had been a mistake, the worst one he’d made in many, many years. He knew the danger he would be in if he did go back and yet he had gone when Harry asked him to. And Harry needed him to, especially if he was now locked up and interrogated like he was a common criminal, which Lucas knew he was not. He was not a traitor and that package that should be hidden somewhere in this kitchen would prove him innocent. And they needed Harry to be proven clean. Without him at the helm, the team would fall apart. They would follow Ros’s orders, but Lucas didn’t need to have a very intimate knowledge of what exactly had happened with her before he had been released to know that the team did not follow her lead willingly. When it came to Harry though, they were fiercely loyal. It was simple enough really.

And he would make sure that he was not taking all this risks for nothing. Maria had died for a reason and he would make sure of that. He had not come this far only to throw in the towel and admit defeat when things got difficult. That was not who he was. It was not how he had survived those eight years in hell. He had flown back to hell, as he had written to Arthur, but he was bloody well going to come out of it again and with the information Maria Korachevsky had hidden here.

It helped to give himself a reminder of just what was at stake should he fail. It did not stop his hands from feeling sweaty and it didn’t do anything to control his nerves and nausea either. It did however make him sort his priorities. And there were drawers, four of them. He needed the third one down and then he had to get out of this place. He was already feeling claustrophobic.

The drawer in question looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. It was dusty, but the large envelope in it was not, suggesting that it had not been there for long. That would have been dangerous too. If anyone would have found it, everything would have been in vain. Now however, he had what he came for.

The envelope contained three things. An airline ticket folded into a fake, but very real looking UK passport, another envelope and something small. He picked that up first. It was odd to see, a relic from times past, but Lucas remembered a microdot document when he happened upon one. That was the information he needed? He could not be certain now, not while he was still in Russia, unable to read the thing. Priority would be to get back to England first and that was going to be hard enough as it was already. It went into his trouser pocket, along with the passport.

He cast a glance over his shoulder and found the kitchen still blessedly empty. The only thing he heard was the loud music coming from the bar. While it may mask the sounds he made in here, it worked both ways. He could not hear any intruder coming either and that made him feel jumpier than he already was. He had to get out of here, the sooner, the better. By all rights he should stick the envelope in his pocket as well and see what was in it when he was safely out again.

But he had spent too much time hanging around Ros Work-first-everything-else-be-damned Myers and her attitude was catching. That must be the only reason why he opened that envelope and pulled out the photograph in it.

It was a picture of three people. The picture itself was black and white and obviously long pre-dated his recruitment to MI-5. Two of the people in the photograph were men and they had practically written KGB all over their faces. They were talking to the third person on the far right of the photo, a woman in a winter coat, who seemed to be rather familiar with them, even if she did not look at all like the kind of person working for the KGB.

No, her face, unlike that of the two men, was familiar. Her hair had gone grey now and her face had more wrinkles than it had had in the eighties, but her face was basically unchanged. Connie James. Connie was the mole.

For a moment Lucas thought it well possible that he had stopped breathing. Of course he had known that one in Section D was betraying the Sugarhorse operation to the FSB, but it was something else entirely to see it confirmed. Harry had said that there was a traitor in Section D and Lucas had no reason not to believe him. He had narrowed the suspects down to three himself already. It would be Connie, Malcolm or Ros. And he had been right. It was Connie. She had been the one to betray Sugarhorse and frame Harry. But had that been all that she had done? Would she not also be responsible for his delivery into the hands of the FSB?

At the same time it didn’t make sense. The intelligence analyst had always been kind to him. She wasn’t a very kind type of person, but she seemed to care about the team and the officers in it. She did her job well, had both intelligence and experience. She was the kindly grandmother type, not the traitor material.

But she was. This photograph proved it. And as he stared at it in shock, a memory resurfaced and he was back on the Grid, only just released, in clothes he had worn for so long he could not remember when he had put them on.

‘Lucas North, I presume?’ the elderly woman had said when she had walked towards him. ‘Welcome back.’

‘Thank you,’ he’d said, still hardly able to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

They had shaken hands. ‘Connie,’ she introduced herself. ‘Connie James.’

Lucas had heard of her, of course he had heard of her. She had been in the Service for about as long as Harry, he imagined. ‘Connie James? Stuff of legend.’

She chuckled. ‘Stuff of nightmares possibly.’

Lucas had laughed it away, taking it as a joke. And Malcolm’s arrival had soon taken his attention elsewhere. To be honest, he had completely forgotten about it until now, when he found himself staring at the photograph in shock and disbelief. Because that was it. He did not want to believe this. When it came down to it, accepting that someone he had trusted so much was capable of doing that to him was a hard blow to take. And then to think that she had been working alongside him and he had never once suspected her of betrayal. No one had. And she was still on the Grid, working to undermine everything his colleagues would be working so hard to achieve.

That snapped him out of his shock. Yes, Ros’s attitude towards work was catching. And at the moment he did not care that it was. His discovery had driven any fear of being discovered here himself clean from his mind, at least for the time being. He should get out of here, but that was not what he did. Instead he dug up his mobile phone and practically stabbed Ros’s number into it.

She didn’t answer, was possibly on the phone herself. She would be on a day like today, when the whole world appeared to be coming crumbling down. He swore under his breath, but did not give up yet. There was always Arthur. There was no doubt that he would be on their side in all of this and with a crisis like this going down, he might hang around the Section Chief. Else he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He might also be with Connie, since she had more or less taken him under her wing. He could only hope that this was not the case today.

He would not find out if Arthur was. The king of Camelot did not answer his phone either. The bloody device switched to voicemail straight away. ‘This is the voicemail of Aidan Parker. I am currently unable…’ Lucas had ended the call before Arthur’s voice could finish his explanation of why he was not capable of answering in person.

It felt like he was being obstructed deliberately. And time was ticking away. Every minute he wasted here, the risk of being caught grew. Lucas was in no danger of forgetting that anytime soon. But his colleagues needed to be warned and so he had to try again. And he was not yet out of options. If Arthur hang around Ros like a lost puppy, then Merlin hang around Arthur like they had been joined at the hip. They came as a package deal, Lucas observed wryly. Normally it annoyed him, but now it was a gift from heaven.

And his luck held. The phone rang twice and then he heard the warlock’s voice. ‘Hello?’

‘Merlin,’ he acknowledged.

‘Lucas?’ The voice on the other end sounded utterly bewildered. ‘Where are you? What’s happening? Are you…?’

Under any other circumstance he might have wondered how he was supposed to get a word in when Merlin didn’t give him a chance to talk in the first place. Today however he had far more important things on his mind. ‘Merlin, Connie is the mole,’ he said forcefully. ‘She is the Russian mole. I’ve got photographic proof! Shit!’

The man in the leather jacket walked into the kitchen. It was only because he had seen him entering from the corner from his eyes that he was able to react in time. And that made him forget about the conversation on the phone. It made him even forget that he had a phone in his hand in the first place. That man was not here to ask him if he could find what he was looking for and would he perhaps need a hand? That man was ready to fight, Lucas could see, and he was not the type to back off.

For a moment he feared that the fear and the panic might cripple him, but then instinct took over. There was no thinking, just the fighting. He was vaguely aware that his opponent landed a few blows, but he hardly noticed. He could not afford the luxury of being slowed down, not with his life on the line.

But he did not particularly care about his life. All he cared about was not getting thrown back in the hell that was Russian prison. If he could get back to England alive, then that was the most preferable outcome, but if he died, he would not be disappointed either. It was better than the alternative and he had given his colleagues the information they needed anyway.

Nevertheless he fought, harder than he ever remembered fighting. If asked later, he could not tell what exactly had transpired. The fight passed in a blur. He could not even say how long it lasted or what he had done in that time. The first conscious thought was when he looked at the dead body of the FSB officer, chained and drowned in the sink. Lucas was vaguely aware that he was responsible for his death, but there was no guilt to tell him this was unacceptable. There was only an overwhelming relief that he was still alive.

 _You won’t be for much longer if you keep dawdling_ , his brain commented. And that was true; Katerina had told him that back-up was on the way. So he took the envelope with the photograph, checked if the passport and the microdot document were still there and practically fled out of the kitchen, out of the bar and back to the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day early, I know, but I'll be running around tomorrow all day, so I won't have time to update then, so there we are.
> 
> On another note, I made a mistake last chapter. In the Merlin POV last chapter it said that Merlin had never met Nicholas Blake in person, while there's a reference in Just Another Normal Day that he actually had. I corrected it now.
> 
> Next time: Ros sees Harry and Merlin might just make one very big mistake. Until then, please review?


	11. Chapter 11

It had been a long shot, Ros knew, trying to work out the Sugarhorse assets were by looking at which Russian officials had ever made contact with MI-5. The thing was that there was any number of reasons why Russians would make contact and most of them had nothing to do with Sugarhorse at all.

Ros felt tired and it was more a fatigue of the mind than it was of the body, but if she were to show that to her colleagues they would know that even Rosalind Myers didn’t know what to do anymore and then where would they be? She was still the only thing standing between them and absolute chaos. She envied Jo, who was getting so tired of it all that she took a moment to rest her head in her hands. If Ros did that, it would be interpreted as her being at a dead end. Her colleagues would lose heart – even more than already was the case – and then they would go into free fall. It didn’t lessen her wish to give in to the urge of giving up, especially after the next file turned out to be another wild goose chase. So far Arthur and Ros had worked their way through a whole stack of files – she had lost count of how many some time ago – and they had only two possible candidates to show for it. That didn’t mean that none of the others were Sugarhorse assets, but they had behaved less than suspicious. Not much was on file, probably to guarantee that no outsider would be able to work out the network all on their own. The Sugarhorse network was designed to be unbreakable. _Damn you, Harry, for teaching your assets the job so well._

‘Nothing?’ Arthur asked. The king of Camelot looked positively dishevelled; his hair stood out to all sides as a result of him brushing his hands through it repeatedly. He was not the ideal person to work with. Ros still felt like he was not quite able to understand what exactly this was all about or what he was even doing. But he tried and he had been the one to point out their strongest Sugarhorse candidate so far. He did make an effort, even if the Section Chief strongly suspected he only did it for Lucas’s sake. She didn’t care about his sodding motives though. What she cared about was that he did it. And she needed someone on her side.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ Nothing for three quarters of the bloody hour, not since Arthur’s latest discovery and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t losing faith in what they were doing. There didn’t seem to be any progress and assets could be killed in Russia even as they were speaking. It was not something she wanted to contemplate at the moment, but Dolby was unlikely to just let her forget about it. He poked his head in every once in a while, demanding what they had for him so far. Thus far her answer to him was the same she had given Arthur: nothing.

Connie had come walking out of Harry’s office a little while ago, with a face like thunder. Ros had tasked her with keeping in contact with Dolby. She didn’t think she could do it herself without exploding instantly. Connie at least could pay that bastard insult without him even realising it. ‘I’ll go and fetch Ben,’ the intelligence analyst announced. ‘We might want to see where we all stand.’

Ros nodded reluctantly. That did seem to be the only sensible option. Her chosen approach didn’t seem to be getting them anywhere, none of them. Russian chatter was annoyingly vague and unhelpful, Ben had not yet come back with any findings, Jo encountered dead end after dead end in her search for Qualtrough and Ros and Arthur barely had any results either. It was disheartening to say the least. And all the while time went on. Harry was still interrogated, Lucas still at risk in Russia and Russia and the United States were sliding into crisis deeper by the bloody minute. Ros liked a challenge, but this was taking the concept of challenge a bit too far in her opinion.

‘Miss Myers?’ Ros all but jumped out of her chair when she heard Dolby’s voice behind her. But she would not give this man the satisfaction of letting him know that he had startled her. It felt too much like he was getting one over her and Ros was not in the habit of letting that happen.

‘What?’ she asked ungraciously. She would have gone on to snap at him that she had nothing for him yet, as she would do with Harry if he had ever been as stupid as to demand progress reports every five minutes, which he wasn’t. ‘Sir,’ she added belatedly. She didn’t want to put her career in the line after all, today least of all.

Dolby was the very image of smugness. ‘I’ve just spoken to Charles Grady,’ he informed her. ‘Harry would like to see you.’

Ros’s stomach did a somersault in reaction. She didn’t know Charles Grady personally, but she knew of him. He specialised in counter-intelligence, which was just a polite word for interrogator. And he had a reputation as a ruthless and merciless bastard, who almost always managed to get a confession once he had been allowed to really turn the screws on a suspect. He wasn’t actually allowed to inflict torture on his victims, not of the type Lucas had suffered anyway, but he didn’t need to. His speciality was mind games and he was very good at it.

 _You have that monster interrogating Harry?_ Merlin had only told her that the man who was questioning Harry was looking particularly nasty, which summed Mr Grady up to perfection as far as Ros was aware. Had Harry not made a controversial decision, then she would have been subjected to his many charms after her involvement with Yalta, she knew. Even a near-death experience and six months in exile were better than that. And they had put her boss through that particular form of hell and he was not the youngest man to walk the earth anymore. _You bastard._

She felt the urge to spit in Dolby’s face, but that might cost her both her chance to see Harry and her job and that was not worth it. They normally never let anyone who was not counter-intelligence even near a suspect and the fact that they had done now, made Ros at least hope that Harry had been able to strike some kind of bargain with his interrogator and that might mean that he was still in possession of his wits. It was a long shot, but then, so was everything else she was doing today. And hope was better than despair anyway.

‘Thank you,’ she managed to get out from between clenched teeth.

‘Shall I walk you down?’ Dolby offered.

 _And give you any more chance to gloat? No, thank you very much_. She conjured up her professional smile and Dolby did a step back. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you,’ she replied, trying to make her voice sound as sickeningly sweet as possible. ‘You must be very busy after all, debriefing all your assets.’ She at least hoped that was what he was doing, because that meant he was at least doing something useful for a change. The expression on his face however made her believe he had done nothing of the kind.

But she did not give him the chance to reply. She marched over to the pods and left the Grid, wondering what exactly it was that Harry wanted to see her about. So far she had to admit that she did not have a clue. And Ros did not particularly like surprises. In her line of work surprises were seldom positive and in the middle of all this mess that was unlikely to change now.

It was tempting to start jumping to conclusions, but Ros had been in the Service for long enough to know that was one of the worst sins an intelligence officer could commit. Check, check, check again and then, just to be absolutely sure, check it another time. Speculation had never gotten anyone anywhere.

There were guards on the door to the interrogation room, who required her identification before they admitted her into the room. They barely spared her a glance after they had seen who she was. Since Ros herself was not in a particularly talkative mood, she herself settled for a curt nod in thanks when the tallest of the two held the door open for her when she entered.

Merlin had seen how bad things were and he had managed to convey the seriousness of it by giving a rather convincing imitation of a corpse’s colouring when he came back on the Grid, but it was not until Ros actually laid eyes on Harry that she realised that Merlin had not just been his tender-hearted self. It really was that bad.

Harry had been stripped of his usual suit and tie and had been given a shapeless boiler suit instead, making him look very old and very vulnerable. He looked drained and downright exhausted. Had he been up all night? When had the arrest been made? What had been done to him since? The questions were spinning around and Ros could hardly stop them. She was worried and she was long past fooling herself into believing that this was a mere professional worry. When had concern about her colleagues ever been strictly professional anyway?

In spite of his drugged state, Harry still got to his feet when he saw her entering, even if he had to grip the table in front of him to keep his balance. To an outsider Ros may give the impression of the well-known ice queen, but her blood was boiling and at the same time she felt like crying, just to let it all out.

Her undoing however was the sight of that pathetic excuse for a human being by the name of Charles Grady, who was looking at it all with an expression that was easily identified as satisfaction. Had Harry already confessed? Had he already given up the names of his assets? ‘Can you at least give him a glass of water?’ she asked. It took her all her willpower to keep herself from begging. The sight of the man who had become more of a father to her than her real father in such a state made her feel like bashing the interrogator’s head in and made her want to cry at the same time. But the Ros Myers Conduct Protocol dictated that she never acted on either of those impulses.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Grady said, not sounding afraid at all.

Ros clenched her hands into fists, sent the man a freezing glare and then marched over to the table. She was here on a mission and she might need to treat Harry as an asset now, if her intuition was indeed right and Harry was trying to relay a piece of information to her, as she sincerely hoped he was planning.

Harry sat down when she did, still holding onto the table to keep himself from falling. Ros forced herself to take deep breaths and watch impassively. No matter how much she wanted, she could not stand up to help him. _By God, they’ll pay for this._

‘None of this is true, is it?’ she asked when Harry didn’t seem to take the initiative. And she found she needed the reassurance.

‘I’m afraid it is.’

Four words. It were only four words, but they turned her world upside down. Now it was her turn to grasp the table as if her very life depended on it. Ros prided herself in knowing how to read Harry Pearce from the mere quirk of an eyebrow. And this was so much more than that. She heard it in his words, in his tone of voice and in the way he hung his head in shame. 

All of a sudden she had trouble remembering how to breathe. Harry’s confession was a physical pain almost. And she had never once even seen it coming. How could she have missed out on it? She had known him for years, she was his outstanding officer, the one he trusted unconditionally. But there was no doubt that he meant every word he said. He had betrayed them, all of them. Had he been the one to sell Lucas to the Russians in the first place, had he sent him there now for the same purpose? It made her sick to even think of it.

Ros had thought that the world had turned upside down this morning. It was only now that she realised this was the moment when her whole world crumbled into dust. There were few certainties in her line of work, but one of them had been Harry. He was the rock on which Section D was built, the glue that kept them all together, the man with the unwavering loyalty to the British state, who even broke the rules of aforementioned state if that was what it took to protect it. Without that certainty Ros felt like she was going into free fall.

But she couldn’t move. She sat in her chair as if she had frozen into it, unable to believe, to really believe that she had indeed been lied to in such a manner. How was this possible? Was Harry really that good an actor that she had never been able to see through him, the way he had not seen through her when she got herself involved with Yalta? But they had not been close then, not yet. This, this hurt more because their bond was closer.

And Harry was not even done yet. ‘I’ve betrayed you and the entire team,’ he confessed. Every word was dripping with shame and Ros thought that it was sincere. Before now she had thought she knew this man and then she would have said with certainty that he meant it. Now she was not so sure anymore. Could she be sure of anything anymore now that things were the way they were? _I trusted you. I bloody well need you!_ ‘I gave my Sugarhorse assets to the FSB.’

Good grief, was he about to tell her everything he had done? Was it not bad enough that he was the bloody traitor? Every word he spoke felt like she was stabbed with a knife right to the heart. It took her all her strength to keep her famous blank face in place.

‘I can understand how you must feel,’ Harry went on. _You know nothing of how I feel! I trusted you!_ ‘But in my defence, my priority has been the renaissance…’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘… The renaissance of something I believe in profoundly.’

And it fit. Harry was a man who fought for his beliefs, no matter what the consequences were. Ros had just never believed that he would ever put his faith in Russia. Good heavens, none of this made any sense. How was she even supposed to do her job when she could not in all honesty trust her own judgement when it had failed her so spectacularly?

Harry bowed his head again. ‘I’m very sorry, Ros.’ Again, he sounded like he meant it, but how was she to tell? She couldn’t be sure of anything any longer.

She could feel her hands trembling, but she’d die before she showed any weakness and so she turned around. ‘Can you let me out now?’ She could barely keep the tremor in her voice under control. Barely.

She was let out, but her head seemed to have been removed from her shoulders. Her eyes were burning and her chest felt like it was stuck in some nineteenth century corset that was much too tight for her to breathe. She stumbled though the corridor and into the nearest bathroom she could find mostly by good luck, because her vision was blurred by something she stubbornly refused to refer to as tears. Only after she had carefully locked the door behind her did she sink to the ground and then Ros Myers cried.

 

***

 

The paper archive was a rather dusty and altogether unpleasant place. Merlin had been there only once before. It was three weeks ago and he had popped in to say hello. Unfortunately the spooks were in the middle of something important and Ros had not approved of the fact that he had been chatting with Jo while she had work to do. The result was that both of them had been sent down to make sure the place wasn’t as dusty anymore. Merlin’s magic had taken care of that and they had spent the remaining time planning what to do with the evening. Apparently three weeks were more than sufficient for even more dust to gather.

And in those three weeks he had also more or less forgotten just how big the paper archive was. How were they ever going to find the authorisation file used to access Borkhovin’s file in this? There was so much paperwork.

Ben took a deep breath. ‘There we are. Don’t you have a magic trick to locate the access slips?’

He did and so he nodded. ‘It might only give us a general direction, though,’ he warned.

‘But it will help.’

There was no arguing with that. Merlin concentrated and whispered a spell. The next thing he heard was the sound of something flying through the air and when he looked up, there was a box flying over to them. Normally the thing would have hit Ben in the stomach, but Merlin had been controlling objects since he was a few months old – driving his mother crazy in the process – and it didn’t really take any thought making it stop in mid-air and then making it land on the table in front of them.

Ben looked a little impressed. ‘That’s something, all right,’ he remarked.

Merlin never really got the measure of Ben. All he knew was that he was relatively new to spying. In discussions he mostly listened, but every now and then he would suddenly launch a good idea, which made up for the long silences on his part. The warlock never quite knew if he liked him, but at least he didn’t dislike him and that was enough to be getting on with.

And nothing helped bonding along more than sitting in a paper archive, wading through what felt like a million access slips. No matter how hard Merlin tried, there was no way his magic could narrow things down a bit more, which meant that they would have to have a look at each and every one they had in front of them to find the authorisation slip for Borkhovin’s file. Needle in a haystack, Connie had said and the longer they were there, the more Merlin began to believe her. Who’d have thought so many pieces of paper would fit into one single box? Even the odds of finding a needle in a haystack were more favourable than the odds they were facing.

Ben laughed when he put that sentiment into the spoken word. ‘Yeah, I bet.’ He stretched as he tried and failed to suppress a yawn. ‘I could do with a cup of coffee.’

Merlin in turn tried and failed to stop himself from returning the compliment. ‘Me too. Shall I get us some?’ He felt like they had been locked in here for ages and they had made no progress at all. The worst thing was that his magic was no use in working out who was betraying Sugarhorse and, consequently, the entire team to the Russians. He had always needed to rely on his own wits for uncovering traitors and it had never taken him much trouble in Camelot. Most traitors were easy to see through, but then, none of the ones he had uncovered were trained spies, who kept secrets as a part of their job description. He was clueless in this and he could not say he enjoyed the feeling.

‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Ben said, bending back over the papers on his half of the table.

‘Of course not.’ He gave the spy a knowing smile. ‘I’m a servant, remember? If Arthur was given half a chance he’d be ordering me around here as well, but…’

‘… Connie would have his head,’ Ben finished. And he was right. The intelligence analyst had tutted disapprovingly when she witnessed it on their first day in Thames House and Arthur had backed off, looking like a young boy caught making mischief.

‘If Ros didn’t beat her to it,’ Merlin added wryly, shoving his chair back in order to get up.

The chirruping of his mobile phone interrupted with his plans to get coffee. That was an almost unique occasion. Since he was not very often in London and very few people had his phone number – Merlin would be hard-pressed to even remember what his own number was – people did not often ring him. Jo was the most frequent of callers and this was not her number. He was sure of that. In fact, this number did not seem familiar to him at all.

Nonetheless, it wouldn’t do to let the thing chirrup until the device switched itself to voicemail. For all he knew this was Ros demanding a progress report. It would not be the brightest idea he’d ever had to keep her waiting. She’d have him locked up in this place long after the operation if he had the gut to ignore her.

‘Hello?’ he said hesitantly.

‘Merlin?’ a voice on the other end asked.

And he knew that voice. ‘Lucas?’ But Lucas was not here. Lucas was in Moscow. He had seen that for himself when he spied on him. ‘Where are you? What’s happening? Are you…?’

He meant to ask if Lucas was all right, but the spy didn’t give him an opportunity to finish his sentence. He sounded tense, jumpy.

‘Merlin, Connie is the mole,’ Lucas interrupted him. ‘She is the Russian mole. I’ve got photographic proof! Shit!’

The sound of fighting came through the phone. There were shouts and the sound of things and people getting hit with considerable force. This was wrong. Something was very wrong. ‘Lucas?’ Merlin tried. ‘Lucas!’

But there was nothing he could do and the connection was broken soon afterwards, leaving the warlock talking to just a lifeless device. And he did not know what was happening or why it was happening, but it was bad news for sure.

And it did not make sense either. Connie, a traitor? It seemed impossible. He liked Connie, got along well with her. And she hated Russians. They were always the first she sought to blame when something was wrong. It seemed so strange that she now would turn out to be working for them. _I’ve got photographic proof_ , Lucas had said. And he was a good spy, one who checked his facts as well as used his intuition. He would not have called if he was not sure. Did he have any other option than to accept what he had told him?

‘Merlin?’ Ben looked at him in what appeared to be worry. ‘Was that Lucas? What is happening?’

 _I wish I knew_. ‘Connie,’ he managed to say. ‘Connie is the mole.’

Anyone else might have been crippled by hearing something like that about a colleague, but spooks were a strange lot. If anything, they were far more prepared to accept the impossible than normal people. They did not let themselves be crippled by the announcement that a trusted colleague and friend had betrayed them all. Ben was a spy and he understood the situation quicker than Merlin had believed possible of anyone. What’s more, he acted on it.

‘You need to tell Ros,’ he said. ‘I’ll find the access slip to back it up.’

Merlin gave himself a mental kick in the behind when he caught himself almost falling into the trap of not putting the job first. If Connie really was a traitor – something he found very hard to believe – then she could wreak havoc untold for as long as she was here. That consequently put Arthur in danger as well and that was something he could not stand for. It was his destiny to protect Arthur after all, even if the king himself was none too fond of the idea.

‘I’ll go now,’ he announced, making good on that by exiting the paper archive and breaking into a run the moment he shut the door behind him. The sooner Ros was told, the better it would be. She wouldn’t want to waste any time at all and she would scold him for dawdling if she caught him in the act. Whether or not Lucas’s information was correct, he simply did not have the time to find out. He would leave the checking of facts to the Section Chief.

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the intelligence analyst until he nearly crashed into her. It was only her quick reflex that prevented them from running into her head first.

‘No running here, young man!’ she scolded him. ‘Where were you off to in such a hurry?’

 _Lie_ , his subconscious advised and Merlin wholly agreed with it. He may not want to believe the worst, but he would much rather be safe than sorry. And so he forced his face into a dazzling smile. ‘I’m getting coffee,’ he announced. ‘Are you going to the paper archive? Should I bring some for you too? Coffee, tea?’ He caught himself before his chatter could turn to rambling. That used to give him away a lot and that was the last thing he could use right now, not with a possible traitor standing right in front of him.

‘I’m fetching Ben. Stay up on the Grid. Ros wants to have another team briefing.’ Connie gave him a stern look, as if Ros’s decision was somehow his fault, although he could not see how that was possible. ‘Although I hope Rosalind knows what she is doing.’

 _She doesn’t_ , Merlin knew. There weren’t very many clues for that opinion, but there were a fair few and Merlin did know how to read people. He had to in his line of work. Ros was uncertain about what she was doing, but she hid it well. She had to, Merlin imagined, or else the whole team would fall apart. ‘So, you don’t want coffee, then?’ he checked.

‘Tea, please,’ Connie said. ‘You can leave it on my desk.’ She had walked away before Merlin had the chance to point out to her that she had actually been the one who told Arthur he was not to be used as a servant around here. Really, he was glad she was gone. Something had been different and he had not been able to put his finger on it. But it was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Maybe it was only because Lucas’s words had wriggled its way into his head, but he did not think so. There had been something in her face, her eyes. It was suspicion, he decided, and a bit of fear too. It was almost as if she was scared of what Ben and he could have uncovered.

Part of him was urging him to go back and fetch Ben himself. It was only a feeling, but he feared that the spy was in some kind of danger. _From an elderly woman with no muscle to speak of? Please!_ Ben was a strong young man and even if Merlin’s feeling was justified, he could hold his own. He was just being ridiculous. And Ros needed to be informed.

And so he ran off towards the Grid, anxious to get Ros to know what she should know before Connie could return. As it was, Ros was standing at Malcolm’s desk, looking as if the world had just ended. That was an alarming thing in and out of itself, since Ros Myers would rather die than show her emotions to others. Malcolm and Arthur were with her, both seemingly mightily confused, which, in turn, confused Merlin.

‘What’s happening?’ he demanded as he skidded to a stop next to them.

‘Harry’s the mole,’ Malcolm said when it became clear that neither Ros nor Arthur was going to give an answer. He sounded as if he could not believe it himself.

Merlin shook his head. ‘He can’t be.’ The denial was immediate. He still didn’t believe Connie to be the traitor material, but he was fairly certain that Harry was an even less likely candidate for treason than the intelligence analyst. ‘It’s Connie.’ The longer he thought about it, the more likely it became. Trouble was that he did not want to believe that of her, not after the enormous help she had been to him. ‘Lucas called,’ he explained when he found himself stared at by three pairs of eyes who asked him whether or not he had lost his mind since lunchtime. ‘He said he had photographic proof and…’

He had meant to go on, but Ros stopped him. Well, she did not truly stop him, but her facial expression took care of that for her. She seemed… relieved was the word, he supposed. It seemed if she just had the Holy Spirit revealed to her, as she had once phrased it to Merlin when he had one of his bright ideas. ‘Renaissance,’ she whispered.

Arthur frowned at her. ‘Renai… _what_?’ Merlin felt like asking the exact same thing. It felt as if the world had stopped making sense to him, roughly around the same time that Lucas had called him to inform him that Connie, of all people, was the traitor they were looking for. Ros’s seemingly completely unrelated remark – he didn’t even know what renaissance meant – didn’t do anything to make him understand.

Ros however did not listen to the king. Every sign of weakness had instantly vanished and the determined Section Chief had resurfaced. ‘Come,’ she told them. She marched away to Harry’s office, currently free of any Dolby-related presence, leaving the other three no other choice than to follow her.

‘What are we doing?’ Merlin asked, unable to stop himself from asking. There was no big chance of Ros actually paying attention to him, never mind that she would answer his question, but he asked all the same.

And Ros replied, even though it was aimed at Malcolm rather than at the warlock. ‘Pull up everything you can relating to the codename Renaissance,’ she ordered. She sounded just as tense as Lucas had done on the phone.

Malcolm did as he was told, taking Harry’s chair in order to work on Harry’s computer. Merlin knew enough of the devices to see that Dolby had not logged out when he left, leaving Malcolm free to work his particular brand of magic on it. The warlock could feel the tension in the room, the anticipation, and he did not even know what it was that they were hoping to find here. Ros’s explanation, as in so far that word could even be used, had been greatly lacking and he just felt confused.

He was meaning to ask when Malcolm found what he was looking for, and then Operation Renaissance turned out to be a thirty year old operation, run by Harry in Moscow. ‘Its object was to persuade the KGB that they had a mole inside MI-5.’

Now things were starting to get clearer. Merlin remembered Operation Camelot, remembered how Lucas had been sent to Morgana, pretending to be sympathetic to her cause. He still was not wholly convinced that the spy had not been sympathetic to her in the slightest. What if the person who had been used to mislead the Russians had really fallen into that trap?

Ros’s thoughts must have been running along the same lines. ‘Who was the officer used to dupe them?’

Malcolm looked at the screen again. ‘Connie James,’ he replied, disbelief obvious in his voice. ‘Traitor.’

It felt like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, but heaven help him, did this make for a terrifying picture as a result. A cold chill went down his spine as he too looked at the screen and saw it for himself. Lucas was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not one of the easiest chapters to write, but hopefully it turned out all right. Next time: Arthur finds this whole turn of events difficult to deal with and Merlin gets sent on a mission.   
> Please review?


	12. Chapter 12

It felt as if his world was in acute danger of collapsing, Arthur thought. Yes, he had known that someone on the Grid was betraying them even as they worked to find out who it was, but Arthur had just done his level best not to think of it. The thought of having to face yet another betrayal was enough to cripple him. Or maybe it just would have him yelling and screaming in frustration when he thought of it. He had seen too many betrayals in his life, Morgana, Agravaine. Even his own father had lied to him. How much more could he really take before he collapsed?

But he was still standing, even if he did not exactly know how. Ros’s whispered announcement that Harry was the mole, that he had confessed it to her and that she did not think he was lying had sent his head reeling. Harry was the steady rock of the team, the one he would expect to always be there, like Gaius would always be in Camelot, no matter how bad things were. He wasn’t the type of person to betray what he believed in. But Ros, who knew the Section Head far better than Arthur did, had believed it. Who was he to question her judgement in this case?

He would however not deny that he had been relieved when Merlin came running onto the Grid to tell them that Harry was in fact not the traitor. He had been equal parts relieved and shocked when he found out that the traitor was in fact Connie, the intelligence analyst of the section.

But that did not make sense either and he wanted to go and deny it right away. The only thing stopping him from making good on that intention was Merlin’s announcement that Lucas had been the one to discover this. Apparently he also had photographic proof of it and that was something that would be hard to argue with. And Lucas had never once led them astray. They may have believed that he did, but that had been their mistake, not Lucas’s.

And Malcolm’s little trip into the digital archive only confirmed Merlin’s words. Connie was the traitor. The very woman he had turned to for advice since the first time he had stepped foot on the Grid had been a traitor all along. She had been a traitor for thirty years. How could he not have noticed that?

 _I’ve been such a fool_. The thought wriggled its way into his head and took up residence there. How could he not have noticed? How was it possible that every time he was being betrayed, he was the last to know? Why did he keep putting his faith in the wrong people? Were other people betrayed as often as he was? He didn’t think so. It kept happening to him, to no one else. And he knew that this may not be meant to hurt him personally – this treachery pre-dated his coming to London by decades – but it hurt all the same. He had considered the analyst a dear friend.

And he had trusted her too. She was a mother-like figure, even though she would hate to be called that. She was the one who always stopped to explain things to him, so that he would not feel like a complete failure in this day and age. She was always kind to him, in her own way of course, but kind nonetheless. To even think of her as a traitor felt like treason.

But he could not argue with the evidence. It was there, on that screen, for everyone to see. To deny it would be foolish, childish even. But he could not help it. He felt it. He felt angry. Merlin would have called it hurt probably, if he had been paying attention. Fortunately he wasn’t. He was looking at the screen. Even though he had been the one to deliver the news, he looked shell-shocked, as if could hardly believe it himself.

The same was true for Malcolm, but not for Ros. She was not moving, but Arthur had seen that facial expression before. She was angry. Very angry.

So when Richard Dolby came marching into the office, looking every bit the cat that ate the canary, it was not a mystery on whom that anger would be taken out. All she waited for was a legitimate excuse to explode. With Dolby here, there was bound to be a good excuse sooner rather than later.

‘It doesn’t matter what you’re trying,’ he said, looking like he was a king and they were stupid peasants who had tried and failed to go behind his back, not something Arthur was very used to. ‘I’ve got the names of Harry’s assets and I’ve already passed them on to a trustworthy officer. Within twenty minutes they’ll all be on their way to tell us what they know.’ He gave every impression of expecting a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

But he was not going to get it from Arthur. Something about his tone of voice had made him feel uneasy. ‘Who is the officer?’ he demanded. An altogether frightening idea had just popped up into his head. Dolby had not given the impression to trust anyone in this section farther than he could throw them, except for one. Connie had spent a lot of time in this office today. Of course, Ros had sent her to make nice with Dolby on their behalf and when asked about it, Connie herself had reacted with a wry ‘Sometimes we have to sup with the devil in order to get some work done.’ What if those visits were not all they seemed?

‘I can’t tell that to you,’ Dolby said haughtily.

‘It’s Connie, isn’t it?’ Arthur asked sharply.

Dolby’s facial expression was all the confirmation they needed.

‘You are a fool,’ Ros said. The words sounded as if they were coming from between clenched teeth, as if she was forcing herself not to explode instantly. ‘I know why Harry wanted to see me. Connie James was turned during Operation Renaissance. I suggest you seal the building and arrest her for treason.’ She demonstratively turned her back on a very flabbergasted Dolby and addressed the three of them. ‘You, with me.’

Arthur didn’t dare protest and so he followed her out and to the meeting room. Jo had disappeared and Ben was not back yet, so they were the only ones present. Well, not the only ones. Mordred had seen them walking across the Grid and joined them just before Malcolm slid the door shut. For a moment Ros looked as if she might send him away, but she merely gave him a stern glare and allowed him to take a seat.

The king didn’t know what Ros wanted to do now. He could only hope that she had some sort of plan, because he certainly hadn’t. He felt empty, angry. In fact, he didn’t really know what he felt. There were so many things he felt that he could not even begin to name them. All he knew was the he didn’t know what to do.

Thank goodness for Ros Myers. She didn’t seem to be taking any of this personal, not in the slightest. There was just anger with her and none of the feeling of being betrayed again that Arthur himself experienced, not that he could see anyway.

‘Merlin, you said Lucas called?’ she asked briskly.

The servant nodded. ‘He did. But I think he’s in trouble. There was shouting and fighting and then the line went dead…’ His voice trailed off as he found himself on the receiving end of one of Ros Myers’s best death glares.

‘You are only telling me this now?’ she snapped. ‘Why?’

Merlin would have cowered back into his chair if this had happened during Operation Camelot, but those days were now behind them and the acknowledgement of his magic had brought about a huge change, Arthur observed. He was much more confident in his abilities and far less easily frightened by authority figures than he had been. And Ros’s accusation had riled him. ‘Because I thought passing on the information to you would be more useful!’ he countered.

Ros was not impressed. ‘What sort of fight?’ Her face was as neutral as it always was, but Arthur saw that she had one of her hands clenched into a fist. No matter what people may think, Ros cared about her colleagues – the ones that didn’t go around betraying all of them, that was – and she would not let any of them be longer in harm’s way than really necessary.

Merlin shook his head helplessly. ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘There were shouts, but not much else to go on. There weren’t any guns though, not that I could hear.’ Well, that was a relief indeed, even if it did nothing to truly reassure either the king or the Section Chief. There were more ways a person could die than from a wound caused by a bullet, as Arthur knew full well.

‘Can you seek him out?’ he asked. ‘In that bowl of water?’ He had enough of this. There was too much misery around here and all in one single day. His chest was aching with something he stubbornly refused to refer to as hurt, but Connie’s betrayal had hit him hard, no matter if it had or had not been meant to hurt him personally. Like Harry Pearce would say, had he been here to say it, he needed some good news. Lately he felt he had a lot in common with the Section Head, though hopefully not the treatment he was subjected to. The last thing he needed was for another friend to be in danger. Lucas had been through quite enough already without adding another visit to Russian prison to add to the list.

Merlin nodded. ‘I’ll get the bowl.’

Arthur waited. He could see Mordred was uneasy, but the soon-to-be knight was not his main priority now. Maybe Merlin had been right and it had been a foolish idea to take him with them to London, if for entirely different reasons. Arthur had assumed that Mordred, being a sorcerer and therefore used to the strange things in the world, might adapt as well as Merlin had done the first time. But it would seem that he was proven wrong in that assumption. The young man seemed quite out of his depth and he should be; there was nothing he could do here and that was bound to make him feel highly uncomfortable.

But he should wait until all of this was over and this world had been set to right. Because that was his duty. He owed these people, Lucas and Ros in particular after all they had done and, in Lucas’s case, sacrificed for him and his kingdom.

But the vision Merlin conjured up did nothing to make him feel like all was well or would be well in the foreseeable future. It took him some time to conjure the vision, but what they saw then was bad. Lucas was running, face as white as a sheet, through alleys and backstreets in a city that Arthur did not recognise. Behind him, too close behind him, were men who looked like they were not going to kindly ask him for directions to the nearest inn. Arthur Pendragon may not be the most skilled man to deal with situations in the twenty-first century – he would even admit to that when he was in a good mood – and he found himself at fault most of the time, but even he could see what this looked like. Even he could see that if something was not done soon, then Lucas would be cornered, and taken prisoner again, maybe even killed. After what Lucas had gone through at Morgana’s hands, he was loath to allow the spy to be subjected to a repeat performance.

‘We have to do something!’ he exclaimed. The words had left his mouth before he had allowed himself any time at all to think them through. He didn’t regret them though. He meant it. Merlin may think he was a spoiled prat, but he was loyal to his friends and whether or not Lucas realised it, Arthur did regard him as a friend and would act accordingly if only given half a chance.

His cry had however gained him Ros’s undivided attention. ‘And how pray are you going to do that?’ she demanded. ‘By the time the bloody plane lands in Moscow it will be too late or do you now suggest you can magically whisk him out of there?’

Most people would back away when Ros Myers snapped at them in such a way, but Arthur was not most people. He was the king of Camelot and consequently, hard though it may be to believe, had seen far worse than the Section Chief of Section D in a foul mood.  ‘Yes, that is what I am suggesting. If Merlin can find him there, then how difficult can it be for magically go there, get Lucas and bring him home?’ The plan had come up as he spoke of it, but what did that matter anyway? All that did matter was that it was a solution and the only one that would allow them to get Lucas out in time. He imagined that Morgana’s treatment would seem like a walk in the castle garden on a sunny afternoon compared to what the FSB might do to the spy if they got their hands on him.

Merlin however looked doubtful. ‘Arthur, I’ve never transported myself over such a long distance. I don’t even know if anyone has done it before. It may not even work!’

Arthur fixed him with the sternest stare he could manage. ‘If you are suggesting that we leave the man who risked his life for me time and again at the mercy of those men…’ He stabbed a finger at the bowl with water, even though the vision in it was long gone. He hated this part of Merlin. Sometimes he did not even seem to care that there were others who were worthy of help and protection apart from Arthur. Sometimes he felt suffocated with how protective Merlin was. ‘Good grief, isn’t he worth it to try, especially after all he has done for us already?’ Merlin looked like he was about to contradict his king and it made him angry.

‘Maybe if we were to combine our strength, we may succeed.’ The one who spoke up was the last one Arthur had expected to speak, since he was so ill at ease here. There was nothing of uncertainty in Mordred’s voice now as he spoke. In fact, he seemed thrilled at the idea of being able to do something useful. ‘I know my powers are not as great as yours, but it may help.’

Merlin’s face looked like a shadow had passed over it. ‘No.’ The answer was both curt and immediate.

 _Oh, for the love of…_ What was the matter with Merlin? Was he not past that old rivalry now? To be honest, it was starting to get ridiculous and Arthur was on the verge of saying so, but Mordred beat him to it. ‘Emrys, don’t you see?’ he pleaded. ‘I only want to help. I’m useless here. I don’t understand this age or its customs, so let me contribute in a way I know how to. Please.’

‘That’s been decided then,’ Ros said. Arthur had a lingering suspicion she would not even have objected if it was Agravaine who had ordered his help in retrieving Lucas, as long as she was sure that it was done. She may not say it, but her actions spoke for her and she would not leave a colleague and a friend out in the cold as long as she could help it. ‘Merlin and Mordred collect Lucas. Malcolm, you keep an eye on the chatter now that Connie is unavailable. Arthur, make sure Richard Dolby is off the Grid as soon as possible…’

‘No,’ Merlin said again, rudely interrupting Ros’s orders.

It seemed that the Section Chief was close to explosion, because she suspected Merlin was not willing to risk his life for Lucas. Arthur, who knew for a fact that this was not what this was about, spoke up before she could. ‘That was an order, _Mer_ lin. Go to Moscow with Mordred, find Lucas and bring him back. Is there some part of that order which you didn’t understand?’

Merlin looked indignant. ‘Of course not, but…’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’ the king of Camelot demanded.

Merlin may have protested again, had the doors not slid open in that moment to allow Jo to enter. She took in the scene, saw the angry faces and seemed to be contemplating doing a runner before she would be torn apart and gobbled up for lunch by the owners of aforementioned faces. ‘I’m sorry…’

Ros’s patience, very much like Arthur’s, was non-existent. ‘Out with it, Jo. Or would you rather have me wait until bloody Christmas?’

Jo swallowed. ‘Security just called,’ she reported. ‘The locks to the paper archive have been tampered with.’

Arthur felt a cold chill go down his spine.

 

***

 

She had a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling. Ros Myers had a good intuition, gained in the years and years that she had worked in this place. There was not always evidence for the things they suspected, but she didn’t always need it anyway. And this was one of those occasions that she felt her blood run cold.

It could mean nothing. It was just the lock to the paper archive that was not behaving as it should. Or rather, that was how it could have been, had Ben not been in the paper archive looking for the proof they needed to pinpoint their traitor and if Ros had not sent aforementioned traitor down to fetch him. She wasn’t given to cold chills, but she had one now.

‘Send security down to open the door,’ she ordered Jo. Her voice sounded as if it came from far, not from her mouth at all. But it was strong and decisive and that had to count for something. She could not show how caught off balance she was.

Mistake after mistake. Sugarhorse was still at risk, she had let herself be fooled by Connie, never truly believing that the intelligence analyst could truly be a traitor, and she would have to admit that in believing Harry when he said that he was the mole, her self-esteem had not been boosted either. How could she lead this team if she was this easily fooled? Harry had been taken captive, Lucas was at risk and God only knew what had become of Ben.

 _Stop wallowing, Myers_ , she reprimanded herself. She had a job to do, and so had Merlin, who was looking like he had seen a particular frightening kind of ghost. ‘Go,’ she commanded.

The warlock may be as thrown off by this as she was, but apparently he could still find it in himself to protest. ‘But…’ He seemed to struggle to find the right words. ‘If he’s in danger, then…’

And Ros was not in the mood for it. She was not even sure that her orders were the right ones, the ones that should be given, but this team still relied on her. And Lucas was still in danger. Just for once, to hell with professional distance. This had long since ceased to be just work. This was personal. She might as well indulge in it for just this once. It didn’t look like she would be working here for much longer here anyway, not with the failures she had made today. ‘No.’ She all but growled the word. ‘You take your magical friend and get Lucas out of there. And if he’s got so much as a hair out of place, I’ll know who to blame.’ She didn’t think she could take any more blows than she had already. There was a limit and right now, she had reached it.

And she feared for Ben. She could only hope that she was not so obvious about it as Merlin was. No, she had never really gotten along with him – Yalta had always been standing between them and a smooth working relationship – but he belonged to her team and she may have unwillingly exposed him to danger by sending Connie to him.

Why had her alarm bells not gone off the very moment Connie offered to go and fetch Ben? Why hadn’t they? She knew the answer as well. She had not given it as much as a second thought because she had been preoccupied. Digging through an endless stack of files and getting ever more frustrated with the lack of results had made her almost forget that she ought to be wary of Connie. And the intelligence analyst must have known that, known it and made good use of it.

And it did not sit well with Ros that she had not seen either of them since Connie said she would go down to fetch Ben. Was she aware of the fact that her cover had been blown wide open? She could be God knows where. The only thing she could hope for was that Dolby for once had actually listened to something she had said and had sealed off the building when she told him to. He would not have much choice but to believe her when he had read the file Malcolm had conjured up, but she hoped he had not wasted too much time on being shocked and had done the necessary thing right away.

Even then, the damage was already done and Ros could not suppress the feeling of defeat that overwhelmed her. Ben at risk, Connie possibly on the run and the names of Harry’s assets in the hands of a traitor. This could not get any worse even if she tried. Dolby may have said that within twenty minutes they would all be on their way to tell MI-5 what they knew, but the Section Chief thought it to be more likely that within twenty minutes they would all be dead. That would be half the network destroyed in one day, twenty years of intelligence work right down the drain.

‘Ros, I left him down there,’ Merlin protested.

 _Well, then you bloody well shouldn’t have_. But could she truly blame him for leaving Ben behind, even if he had run into Connie on his way to the Grid? Merlin may be a suspicious soul from time to time, especially where Arthur’s safety was concerned, but sometimes he was as naïve as a new-born baby. But even then, Connie was an elderly woman; there was a limit to the damage she could do to a healthy, strong man such as Ben Kaplan. ‘I won’t ask again,’ she said icily. ‘Get Lucas out. That’s an order.’ Those were Harry’s words, but they suited her just fine too. And she did not think she could bear it if even one more thing went belly-up. She had seen too much gone wrong today.

 _Hold your horses, Myers. Ben may be perfectly all right_ , she reminded herself. True, he might be, but Ros did not believe so. Maybe it was the result of having been in the security services for too long, but she had lost faith in happy endings. There were satisfactory outcomes if they were lucky, no happy endings. Those belonged in the world of fairy-tales, cheap novels and movies. They had no place in real life at all.

Merlin still looked hesitating, but the young man known as Mordred seemed to be willing to do as she asked. It was good to know that her laser look at least had effect on someone, even if it had seemed to have lost its effect on the warlock. ‘Merlin, we should do as she asks.’

Ros, who saw that Merlin was preparing to protest again, cut in. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she warned him. Even Adam had known better than to go against her when she was talking in that way. ‘You go there and you get him out. I don’t care what it takes. You. Get. Him. Out. Now stop wasting time and _go_!’ It was one of those unwritten rules in this job. They looked after their own because no one else was bloody well going to do it for them. But there was more to this. Lucas was more to her than just a colleague. Friends only annoy you, they had agreed, and Lucas did annoy her, an awful lot of the time, but now he was messing with her head as well, as she had claimed only family would do. _Lovers leave, friends annoy you and families mess with your head_. Lucas annoyed her and messed with her head – she had a lingering suspicion the latter had started the moment Morgana had abducted him – but he sure as hell wouldn’t leave while she had a say in it. And she had.

Ros’s anger finally seemed to register on his radar or maybe the combined forces of both her own and Arthur’s most furious glares was enough to convince him that any further protest might have serious consequences for his health. ‘I’ll bring him back.’

‘You’d better.’ The words were coming from Arthur’s lips, but it could have been Ros who had spoken them. The king just beat her to it. _And there’s another one whose head Lucas has messed with. We’re emotionally compromised in this, both of us._

Jo had left some time ago to get people down to the paper archive to open the bloody door and as much as Ros dreaded to see for herself what had happened, she knew she had to. She may have failed in every other aspect of her job today, but at least for now she was still the Section Chief. She should bloody well act like one.

But it was hard. Ros knew herself well enough to know that she usually didn’t bother with emotions in this job. At least she tried not to bother with them as they only made her take questionable decisions, but she had also long since known that her team was her weak spot. It had been when she had joined Yalta out of pure spite when the Americans had taken Zaf and it was only worse now that she was truly in charge, responsible for them. Ben was her responsibility as well, even when she did not like him much.

Ros prided herself in being realistic, so she would not bother with thinking that this was all a coincidence. Coincidences did not exist in this line of work. The best she could hope for in this case was Ben being knocked out and Connie making off with the evidence, but it did not seem likely. The intelligence analyst was not a strong woman physically, but it didn’t need a strong person to pull the trigger of a gun.

She walked as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run. Arthur was next to her, but thank God that for once he didn’t feel the need to fill the air with words like he tended to do. In fact, he looked rather pale and worried. Arthur was no friend of Ben’s either, but neither were they unfriendly with one another. Arthur probably looked at him as a colleague. _Colleagues are okay_.

If only she could still believe that after today.

It seemed to take ages for the door to be opened. Jo was on the phone, trying to get Ben to answer his, but it was not answered, even if they could hear it ring on the other side of the door. The Section Chief pointedly avoided looking at her. Jo was a good woman, but entirely too naïve for this job, but today she didn’t want to sink her hopes by telling her that there were none for Ben. She would have to face that reality soon enough.

The door finally opened and Ros, impatient now, pulled it open, all but shoving the security man out of the way. If she had to face this, then she had best do it right away. It was bad. Ros had known that it would be from the moment Jo had come in to tell her that the locks had been tampered with and her suspicions were only confirmed when Ben did not answer his phone and when calling his name did not have any effect either.

It was even worse than she had anticipated. When the door finally did open and she looked at the scene in front of her, she felt her blood run cold, which according to some must be quite a feat, since she had ice water in her veins to begin with. But this shocked her to the core. She had expected Ben to be shot, knocked out, maybe even strangled, but not this. She had not expected him to be lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his throat cut like an animal to be slaughtered.

And then she did something Ros Myers had never been known to do before: she fled. She turned on her heels and stumbled more than walked back into the corridor. _I failed_. It were the only two words in her mind and she knew them to be true. The proof of that was lying in the paper archive in his own blood, dead.

Her hands were trembling and she felt like she could faint any second now. If she had only thought about Connie’s request before she sent her down, if she had only been a bit more suspicious, Ben might still be alive. But she had not been. She had as much blood on her hands as Connie for sending Ben’s executioner down to him.

Her mind’s eye was only too keen on replaying what she had seen over and over again. It made Ros nauseous, made her want to throw up where she stood. It made her want to scream in frustration and it made her want to kick the walls and slam the doors. But she could not. What good would it do? It would not make time turn back on itself and it could certainly not bring Ben back to life. It was too late for any of that.

She heard Malcolm come out behind her and Jo after him. The technician was shocked into silence, but Jo was weeping openly. Ros almost wished she could do the same and just for once to hell with self-restraint and her reputation of being a cold-hearted bitch, but she was beyond tears. A lifetime of suppressing them had almost made her forget how to cry. The guilt she felt throttled them at birth, guilt for not realising sooner, guilt for letting Sugarhorse be lost at the last possible second even though Harry had warned her, guilt for not recognising the warning and then there even was some sort of guilt about not liking Ben a little better than she had. Would she have been more alert to the possibility of danger if she had liked him?

She would never know the answer now. It was far too late. Death was final. There was no coming back from it.

‘Ros?’

Ros could have shot Arthur for even talking to her, but that would be unprofessional. She still had a job to do and she would do well not to forget it. ‘What?’ she snapped, not feeling up to any polite conversation at the moment.

‘You need to see this.’ He sounded like a king, commanding. But there was anger there as well, a boiling rage just below the surface.

Maybe that was what prompted her to do as he asked and look at the blood-stained piece of paper he held in front of her. It must have been in front of Ben when his throat was cut; the paper was bloodied and difficult to read. But there was enough still readable to recognise the authorisation slip to access the file of Alexander Borkhovin, requested by Hugo Prince on September the twenty-third 2003.

Burning hatred mixed with ice-cold shock when she realised that Ben had found the proof they would have needed to back up Lucas’s phone call, had they not found out about Operation Renaissance. He had found the evidence and had been killed for it. And the fact that Connie had not taken this with her suggested that she had no intention of staying here any longer. She just needed the time to run.

But she would not get away with this, Ros vowed. Ben had been a member of her team and she had been responsible for him. It may be too late to save his life, but it was not too late for revenge. And that might be the best way to deal with this anyway. Ros Myers was not the weepy type. She was commonly known as a cold-hearted bitch. If it was up to her, Connie James would soon find out just how cold-hearted exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a day early. The reason for that is that I’ll be in headless chicken mode for the better part of tomorrow and I might not have the time to put a chapter up then. Next week’s will be on Saturday, as normal.  
> Next time: rescue mission in Moscow. Please review?


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

It had all gone wrong the moment that FSB man had come into the kitchen, Lucas would reflect later. But admittedly this was not the time to ponder when and what had gone wrong when and how.

The trouble had started for real when he exited the bar by the back door, as Katerina had instructed. The alley itself seemed blessedly empty and free of any FSB presence, as he had more or less feared there would be. But the alley was abandoned and he allowed himself to take a deep breath in relief. He had made it out. He had gotten his hands on the evidence he needed and he was alive and in one piece. He even had managed to get rid of his attacker and the only visible evidence of that was a graze on his hand that he had not even noticed until he was outside again. But it did not matter. He had a plane ticket and a false identity; he could get out of Russia and the sooner he did that, the better it would be. And he had the evidence of Connie’s treachery and some microdot document in his pockets as well. For the first time since he stepped on Russian soil, he felt like he might have a chance to succeed.

But he was being optimistic too soon. Katerina had told him that the alley would lead back to the street and that was what he did. Once he was at a main street again he could take a taxi back to the airport. It was only a matter of hours now before he would be back in London.

But things were never that easy. When he emerged from the alley and looked to his left, he saw a group of four grim looking men on the pavement. FSB. There was no doubt of that. They might as well have had it printed on their shirts and written on their foreheads. The back-up, it must be the back-up Katerina had mentioned that would be coming. And when he looked to his right, he saw another group of four men coming in. There was no doubt that this was no coincidence. He was being hunted.

Lucas hoped that he may have been in time in stepping back into the alley, but he rather doubted that. Spooks were a suspicious lot and he was rather safe than sorry. Panic was making his heart race in a way that suggested he had just run a marathon. He might find himself doing that before long too if his suspicions were right. The FSB had not become one of the most effective intelligence agencies by recruiting idiots. And there were eight of them; one of them was bound to have seen him.

Running might draw attention, but there was nothing else for it. He briefly considered going back into the bar and hide in the kitchen, because that would be the last place they’d expect him to run to now that he had been seen outside the bars, but he dismissed the thought almost right away. There were only two ways out of there and with eight FSB officers in pursuit, it would be only too easy to cut off his every escape route. The alleys and backstreets were a better, not to mention safer, option for him now.

And so he ran, trying to block out all other sounds. If he hard running footsteps behind him now, the panic might take over completely. It was already fighting for dominance, forcing memories of Russian prison on him, whispering that was his fate if he did not manage to make it out of here somehow. It was all the motivation he needed to run as fast as his legs could carry him.

In hindsight he would never be able to tell how long he had run or how far, but he was sure that he had run far. He did not know where he was or even where his pursuers were, but he thought that for a moment at least he had lost them. Lucas was not at all at ease, but he felt that he had at least gotten some breathing space. He would not have any real rest until he stepped foot on British soil again. Now all he needed to do was to find a taxi that would take him to the airport, back home.

He wondered if his information had been acted on yet. He supposed so. Merlin would not let any danger within a three mile radius of Arthur exist, not even when it was not even directed at his king. And he did seem to care about what happened on the Grid for some reason. He would have no reason to keep this information to himself and Ros would have no reason to believe he was lying. By the time he was home again, Harry might be back in his office and everything would be as it should be. It was an altogether encouraging thought.

He was snapped out of his daydream by shouting voices behind him. They were shouting in Russian and now that he heard those, he could hear the running footsteps that accompanied them.

The panic returned with a vengeance. He had not shaken his tail at all. They were still hunting him. But the panic might be a good thing now, even if Ros would scowl at him for being so ruled by it if she ever were to find out about it, because it kept him going, kept him running, even though his body screamed for a moment of rest. And his pursuers were closer behind this time. He could hear them and they were closing in too. They knew this place like the back of their hands and Lucas’s knowledge of Moscow was about eight years out of date. They had the advantage and he knew it. What was worse was that they knew that he knew.

The pursuit went on for another eternity, but when he found himself staring at a dead end, he knew he was done for. There was no way out of here – he was in a courtyard with walls on three sides – and he would not have the time to run back and take another alley. Even though he had run for the longest time and could feel the sweat trickling down his brow and back, a cold shiver went through him. _Not again. Please God, not again_. His hands were shaking as well. Lucas thought he would beg them if he could, beg them to let him be or, if that was not to be, to shoot him and get it over with. Anything was better than to be condemned to hell again, even death.

He turned around, but the sight that met his eyes was no encouraging sight, not by a long way. They were here, all eight of them. There was no fighting them. One or two FSB officers, he might have managed that, maybe even three of them, but not eight.

 _Don’t you bloody well dare give up_. Lucas vaguely recalled that Ros had said something along those lines when he had been carried into the van after he had been saved from Morgana’s hospitality. He had been semi-conscious at the time and the details were blurry, but the Section Chief’s voice stood out. And she would be right. He could not throw in the towel yet, not while he still had the use of his own two hands and he had vital evidence to bring to London. True, he may not win this, but if he were to go down, he could at least go down fighting. It was better than the alternative. He had never regretted not having a gun more. He would have stood more of a chance, especially because his opponents were in the possession of them.

The FSB officers knew that they had him, that he had nowhere to run. They also knew that, when it came to a fight, he could never win. Lucas saw smiles appearing.

But those were short-lived when all of a sudden a storm started and not just any storm, but a whirlwind. And it was far too sudden to be natural. One might almost say that it was magical.

Lucas felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Had he not seen Morgana do this, had he not been in such a whirlwind himself, he might never have realised what was happening, but he did. And there was only one person Lucas knew about that was capable of doing this.

And that was very unlike the FSB officers, who stared at the storm with barely concealed confusion and, in two cases, even fear. The chances had turned and Lucas could feel the smile Merlin thought of as creepy find its way onto his face. He was not lost yet, quite the contrary. The FSB did not stand any chance against what Merlin could do.

To his surprise though the warlock was not alone. When the storm ended as abruptly as it had begun, Lucas did not only see the familiar figure of Arthur’s servant, looking like he had encountered a ghost, but also a young man with dark hair, several years younger than Merlin by the looks of it.

‘Are you all right?’ Merlin did not sound like Merlin at all. He sounded worried. Come to think of it, Merlin sounded like he would sound when he was afraid something bad had happened to Arthur. Lucas had never found himself on the receiving end of such a tone of voice.

‘You bloody well took your time,’ he commented, in an attempt at flippancy, not knowing what to do with the concern.

The FSB officers were still in the process of processing what on earth had just happened. Lucas imagined that they would not know what to do with this. Heaven knew he had not believed in such a thing as magic until he had seen it with his own eyes, that first time when Merlin tried to magically blast out the door of one of the basement holding cells.

One of them had recovered himself. ‘Drop your weapons!’ he demanded in heavily accented English.

Merlin’s companion, dressed like a knight of Camelot, even if Lucas was certain he had not seen him when he had been in Camelot, did not listen. Quite the contrary, he drew his sword. The sound of it conveyed his intention well enough. He was however the only one of them who had a weapon at his disposal.

Another Russian, who looked particularly unnerved by what he had just seen, pulled the trigger of his gun. Lucas ducked, a habit borne of years of experience in the Service, but he should not have bothered; the bullet was deflected on the magical shield Merlin had conjured up. ‘Stay back,’ he warned them. His voice sounded cold now, unforgiving, a tone of voice Lucas was familiar with. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

Lucas moved to stand between Merlin and his yet unknown friend. The young man looked unkind and determined. The expression on Merlin’s face seemed to be an exact copy. It was an expression that did not seem to suit him at all.

One of the FSB officers was rapping a report into his phone. Lucas was out of earshot, but he’d bet this month’s salary that he was calling for more back-up and even the powerful Merlin could only take so many. But they could not yet afford to leave, because even disappearing in a whirlwind took some time and in that time they could all three of them get shot. And Lucas had no intention of getting shot in the foreseeable future.

Merlin’s friend had seen the man on the phone as well and reacted to it by throwing a knife at him. The Russian stood a bit off to the left side, which meant that he had to throw in front of Merlin and Lucas to hit him. But he was young and quite possibly fairly inexperienced, and his aim was a bit off. Lucas had to step back and drag Merlin back with him to avoid that either one of them would end up with a knife in the throat. The second knife the young man threw did hit the target though. The FSB officer fell to the ground, dead. His aim had not been off in the slightest.

This action had made shooting fair game. The FSB may be utterly unfamiliar with knights and warlocks, but they knew an attack when they saw one, and if they had the word retreat in their dictionary, Lucas had never seen any proof of it. Magic or no, they had orders that Lucas, and the information he carried, were not to leave the country. And whether that ended up with Lucas either taken prisoner or dead, that did not seem to matter to them.

But they were going up against the most powerful warlock to ever live. Merlin may not look it and Lucas himself had been sceptical about it himself – Merlin had not exactly shown much impressive magic during Operation Camelot – but there was no doubt that he was powerful.  He did a step forward as he threw his hands forward. ‘ _Scildan_!’ he commanded. ‘ _Astrice_!’

The first spell made a shield rise up in the air between them and the Russians, the second blew three of them off their feet. Lucas was fairly certain that at least one, maybe two of them, did not survive the collision with the wall against which they were thrown. It was a new side to Merlin, one that he had not seen before and one that he, if he was really honest, found a bit frightening. People tended to underestimate Merlin, because he was so singularly not dangerous looking, but that happy goofy grin was not necessarily anything more than a mask.

Lucas stayed a bit back during the fight. It was something he wasn’t used to. He was used to being in the thick of it, but today he was the only one unarmed and apparently he was the one in need of rescuing. Even Merlin’s friend, who only had a sword, gave the impression of wanting to join in the fight. And apparently he had more than just a sword as a weapon; he too sent a spell at the Russians. But he was standing half behind Merlin and his aim was not straight again. Had Merlin not done a step to the left, the spell would have hit him instead of the two FSB officers who were blasted back and fell to the street. They did not get up again.

Merlin took care of the last of the FSB squad and turned back to Lucas, beckoning his friend with him. He looked jumpy and ill at ease, but he managed a tentative smile. Lucas could at least understand that. The two of them had never been good friends, had even been enemies at one point, and it had influenced how they treated the other ever since. What should they say?

Lucas settled for the Ros Myers approach: sarcasm. ‘You couldn’t choose anything a bit more spectacular?’ he inquired mockingly.

Merlin arched an eyebrow in what appeared to be surprise, but then recognised what Lucas was doing and he joined in with something that looked remarkably like relief. ‘You’re just like Arthur,’ he commented. ‘There’s just no pleasing you sometimes.’

Flippancy was good, Lucas supposed. ‘Who’s your friend?’ he asked, looking at the young man with the bad aim.

Aforementioned young man smiled, but that, like the sarcasm Lucas had just used, seemed to be copied from Ros Myers; it didn’t reach his eyes. Lucas had seen that same look in the eyes of his tormentors in prison and the resemblance was so strong that he could not suppress the cold shiver that went down his spine. Spooks may be a suspicious lot, but they also had a sixth sense for danger.

‘My name is Mordred,’ he replied. The smile was still plastered on his face. ‘Shall we go back?’

Merlin nodded and Lucas found himself doing the same, but his eyes remained fixed on Mordred. He knew the legends reasonably well, but he knew from experience that quite a bit was in reality quite a bit different from how legend would have them believe. The basic things were the same though. Morgana had indeed been bad, Arthur was good. Mordred, according to legend, was bad. An alarming thought wriggled its way into his head and made itself comfortable there: Mordred’s bad aim was not a bad aim at all…

 

***

 

Arthur hid behind a pillar, the way he had done when he was ten years old and he played hide and seek with Morgana in the council chamber. That was where the similarities ended though. When he was ten years old he had not been trying to catch traitors and there would not have been dire consequences when he was found out before the time was right either. When he was ten years old, his definition of betrayal was when Morgana told Uther that he had been hiding in the stables in order to get away from his lessons again. Arthur rather thought that had been a simpler time in a simpler world and therefore preferable over the day and age he now found himself in.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with which land and which era one lived in. Maybe his father had shielded him from the worst and now that he was grown up, he got to see the world and the people that lived in it for real and that included all the bad sides. And Arthur Pendragon had seen far worse betrayals that his half-sister running to his father to tell on him. Morgana, Agravaine… But he had never expected that he would face it in London as well.

Arthur had never seen himself as truly a part of Section D. He had never been made to feel truly welcome here and he knew that his skills in spying were not up to scratch, something Ros never tired of reminding him. But Connie had taken him under her wing and Arthur found that, albeit with some difficulty, he could keep up when necessary. Occasionally, he even felt like he was really contributing to the success of an operation.

And now he had found out that the woman he had looked to for guidance, the grandmother-like figure who had been kind to him in her own unique way from the moment he had stepped foot on the Grid, was a traitor. He would not deny that this hurt. Another betrayal and in a place where he had least expected it. Would it ever end? If even in London he was not free of it, then what hope did he have for Camelot?

He could see her now, on the telephone, as she marched across the Grid. Had he not known better, Arthur would have believed her to be working on just another normal operation, calling some official or other to find out something about what Al-Qaeda was doing. As it was, it was far more likely that she was arranging her own escape route.

And that was a theory that was confirmed when she took her handbag and walked over to the pods. What vexed the king of Camelot was how calm she was, how in control. Good grief, she did not even give the impression of being nervous or otherwise ill at ease. She had just killed a man, had condemned him to bleed to death all alone. Ben had been alone in the end and Arthur did not need a vivid imagination to imagine just how bad that would have been. Arthur knew there was a realistic chance that he would not die of old age in his own bed and he had no objections to that, but he hoped that he at least would not be on his own when the end came. Ben had been and it made him all the more angry.

‘Step away from the pods.’ Ros sounded even more furious than Arthur felt; her voice was low, almost soft, but it vibrated with hatred and loathing. Arthur had never seen Ros Myers in a state of shock before, but he had seen it when they had found Ben’s body. Her face was as pale as a sheet and he thought that she might actually start to cry, something that was not like her at all either. She had not stayed in the paper archive any longer than two, maybe three, seconds before she had turned away and all but fled.

‘Something the matter?’ Connie did stop and looked at Ros in what appeared to be surprise, but where this woman was concerned, they could take nothing for granted. She had deceived all of them and none of them had ever suspected that something about her was not as it should be. Maybe it should Arthur make feel a bit better about himself that Ros had been as blind to her treason as the king himself had been, but it didn’t. Time and again he failed to notice the betrayal that was taking place right under his very nose until it was too late. And he had known Connie reasonably well, or so he thought.

‘Operation Renaissance.’ Ros all but spat the words. There was no sign of shock on her face. The anger had replaced any grief she might have felt at Ben’s death and in a way it was reassuring, something that had not changed, even if Arthur found his world turned upside down once again. ‘That’s when they turned you, isn’t it? You and Harry working to persuade the Russians they had a mole. He came back from Moscow the same.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘You didn’t.’

The finger snap was his cue. Dolby had, after another shouting match with Ros, agreed to seal off the building. Apparently the proof the file about the operation had offered was not enough for Dolby to arrest Connie – or he had been too busy processing the fact that he had stupidly passed the Sugarhorse names on to the very person who had betrayed Sugarhorse to the Russians in the first place – and it was only after he had learned of Ben’s death that he had paled until he was so white that Arthur would have mistaken him for a corpse, had he not known better, and he had ordered security to do as Ros asked and, to the king’s relief, to get Harry Pearce released with immediate effect. At least they had managed to achieve that, even if they had not been able to salvage the Sugarhorse network. It was only a small consolation, but after this disastrous day even the smallest consolation was welcome news.

Arthur was not the only one to come out of hiding when Ros gave the sign. Security came forth as well and restrained Connie before she could make a dash for the pods and escape at the last possible second. The rest of the core team, as in so far present and alive, followed Arthur’s example. Jo still looked shaky and her eyes were still red from the crying she had done. Malcolm, on the other end, looked even more restrained than he usually was.

Connie’s smile was positively evil. ‘You realise it’s too late? I’ve already sent the names.’ Even now that she was caught, she did not seem too concerned about her fate, even though with all her experience she would know better than anyone in this room what awaited her. It was almost, Arthur observed warily, as if she knew something the rest of them did not, something that would keep her out of prison. And that was unlikely to mean anything good.

‘Not the right names, I’m afraid.’ He was distracted at the familiar voice of Harry Pearce. The Section Head looked pale and exhausted, but the very fact that he was back on the Grid tempted Jo into a tentative smile and made Malcolm seem just a little bit more at ease. Ros was the only one who did not give a physical reaction, even though her boss’s release must mean the most to her, considering what he meant to her. The Section Chief never took her eyes of the former intelligence analyst. ‘Names I gave to Richard because I knew you’d be working hard to get him to trust you.’

‘Almost made it.’ Connie, in reaction to seeing the man she had so skilfully framed for treason, merely smiled. This was not the behaviour of a defeated foe. This was a foe who still had some tricks up her sleeve. Arthur had defeated enough enemies to know when he really had beaten them and to know when there was still danger to be feared. It reminded him of when he had executed Caerleon, who had died with that menacing twinkle in his eyes, as if he knew that this was far from over. And even though Arthur had not believed that at the time, he had learned the truth of it before long. Connie was exactly the same. This was not over yet. If anything, this had only just begun.

‘Almost,’ Harry agreed.

‘Why?’ he heard himself ask, even though he could not remember giving himself permission to do so. He was not even sure he wanted to know the answer to his question. Arthur had asked the same thing of Agravaine and he had not liked what he heard then. It had only made him sad. What made him believe that this woman was any different? Still, he had to ask, had to know why someone he had trusted more than any other on this team had followed the what seemed to be becoming a national trend in Camelot by betraying him, betraying the people she had worked with for so long. ‘Why did you do it?’

Arthur was not sure if he even knew the woman who looked back at him. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up over this, Arthur,’ she said. The words coming out of her mouth were the words of the Connie he had come to know, but now it did not seem to fit anymore, not after what she had done. ‘It wasn’t personal.’

The king of Camelot shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. This is personal. Betrayal always is.’ Her betrayal had failed because of Harry. It had been a relief to hear that the wrong names had been given to the FSB, even if Arthur dreaded to think what would happen now to the people that belonged to the names. He doubted they were even still alive, given how Alexander Borkhovin and Maria Korachevsky had died. But the network was still intact and Connie was captured. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this had only just begun. And he could not shake the feeling of being betrayed either. ‘You just keep telling yourself it’s not personal so that you can keep on doing what you’re doing and you can go on sleeping at night and looking at your own reflection in the morning.’

There were always excuses, things people told themselves in order to make them believe in their own actions, things they told themselves to justify them. But when scrutinised, none of those reasons could stand up for longer than two minutes. Morgana had told herself it was her right to rule when really it was just her hatred of Camelot and Uther than had made her into who she had become. Agravaine had loaded the blame for his sister Ygraine’s death on Arthur to mask the fact that he only helped Morgana because he was in love with her. There had to be more with Connie as well.

‘Why?’ he repeated.

For a moment Arthur thought she was going to refuse, but then she spoke. ‘I did what I thought was right.’

It was the same nonsense he had heard before; some greater good to mask more personal reasons. ‘Morgana said the same thing,’ he remarked, a hint of sadness to his voice that he didn’t want there to be. ‘And in the end she was left without friends, without anyone who truly cared about her. Is that truly worth it?’ He didn’t know why he was still pleading with this woman when by all rights he should hate her for what she had done. And he did that, but like it had been with Morgana, there was not just anger.

The former intelligence analyst shook her head, but not as an answer to Arthur’s question. ‘You don’t understand this day and age, Arthur.’ She almost sounded like the kind woman Arthur had come to know, except that he knew now that person was just an illusion. She did not truly exist. ‘You don’t understand the politics and the balance in the world.’ She snorted. ‘And Britain is wrong here, just a pathetic little country, putting a fig leaf of British democracy over the actions of a monster.’ The smile she added to her words was nothing short of evil. ‘Why don’t you ask Ros? She will understand.’

One glance at the Section Chief made it clear that Ros would like nothing better than to throttle the elderly woman on the spot. Of understanding was no sign. Apparently she did not even think this worth an answer, because she kept her silence, maintaining murderous glances at the traitor.

Jo shook her head. ‘What about Ben?’ She may have tried to sound demanding, but she was too shaken to really pull it off. ‘He didn’t deserve this.’

‘I had no choice.’ Connie sounded wholly unconcerned.

‘You had a choice!’ Jo protested, tears in her eyes.

‘Sometimes it’s easier to think that you don’t.’ Arthur found himself quoting Guinevere. It was one of her sayings, something that was entirely true as well. ‘You _did_ have a choice. You _chose_ not to stay loyal to your friends.’ And when it all came down to it, that was the truth of it. It was an ugly truth, one that made Arthur sick to his stomach, but then, treason was always ugly, always nasty and always left both parties unsatisfied and often heartbroken. ‘You killed Ben, put Lucas at risk. Tell me, did you sell him out eight years ago as well?’ It was just a hunch, something he had quietly wondered about. Lucas had once remarked that he didn’t know who had done it, at the campfire during the journey to the Isle of the Blessed, and had added that he may never know. He probably didn’t expect Arthur to give it any more thought, and he hadn’t, until now. Lucas had been convinced that his arrest in Moscow was not a coincidence and Arthur agreed. And the chances of there being two traitors were astronomical at best.

‘I had no choice,’ the analyst said again. Apart from her mouth not a single facial muscle moved. She either did not care or put on a very good show of not caring.

Harry looked disgusted. ‘Get her out of my sight.’

The guards made to obey. Connie merely smiled triumphantly, as if she knew something the rest of them were yet ignorant of. ‘I’m sure we’ll see each other again.’

‘I sincerely hope not,’ Ros said.

Arthur heartily agreed, but as he watched Connie being led away, he feared Ros’s hopes may be in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how pleased I am with the first part of this chapter, but it didn’t get any better, so my apologies. Next time: an unlikely alliance is made.   
> Please review?


	14. Chapter 14

Appearing in a whirlwind had been something of an experience the first time, Merlin reflected when the winds died away and he found himself standing in the middle of a corridor in Thames House. It had taken him long to master it and it still quite vexed him that Morgana had done it long before him, but then, Morgana wasn’t being weighed down by being Arthur’s servant and destiny-appointed protector. She had more free time on her hands than Merlin could ever dream of having. He had to snatch moments between sleeping, eating and running around after Arthur.

Still, it felt rather good to be able to do this and over such a long distance as well. He’d never done this before and he didn’t think there would ever be any need, but in the end it turned out that he had not even needed Mordred’s help. He’d done most of it on his own on the way to Moscow and all on his own on the way back.

Mordred had done well. As much as he hated to admit it, he had done a good job. Three FSB officers were dead because of him and Merlin would have no choice but to admit that without Mordred’s aid things may have turned out quite a bit differently. And now he found that doubt was invading his mind. What if Mordred had spoken the truth all along? What if he truly had no other purpose in coming to Camelot than seeing the repeal of the ban on magic for himself? He’d said it himself, he had only been a child when Merlin had last seen him and he’d had no control over his powers and what he was doing when he killed those Camelot guards. He could have spoken the truth for all Merlin knew. It was only because he knew the prophecy that he regarded the soon-to-be knight with such wariness. It was not fair perhaps.

At the same time he hated himself for having doubts. If he was wrong, then Arthur would be in danger the moment Merlin let down his guard. Was that something he could risk? Merlin rather thought it wasn’t, but all he had to go on to say that Mordred was not as good as he seemed to be were events from years ago. It seemed harsh almost to judge him on those things, but there was a feeling that kept nagging and it grew only worse now that Merlin had to consider that he may have been wrong all along. And that was not a pleasant thing to feel at all.

But he could at least be nicer to the young sorcerer and entertain his suspicions all the same. It was a spy thing, he supposed. They pretended who they were and what they believed almost for most of their lives. He could put Mordred under surveillance, pretend to like him, but at the same time keep a very close watch on him. And maybe in time he would find that he had been wrong all along about the young man, but he’d rather have that than to let his guard down now and have to discover later that he had been right to suspect him after all. That was not a risk he was prepared to take.

Mordred was smiling. ‘We did it.’ He sounded pleased with himself and he was entitled to be after his performance in Moscow. Good intentions or not, he had helped out and Merlin didn’t think he would ever think that. Life truly had a way of surprising one and he didn’t mind that surprise as long as it was a good one.

And he did feel pleased with himself as well. After all, they had gotten Lucas out of Moscow. The spook was leaning against the wall, holding onto it for support, possibly a bit dizzy. Magical transport had that tendency to do that to people. Merlin was no great fan of the sensation either and it had taken some getting used to.

‘We did,’ he agreed. ‘Go on ahead, Mordred, tell Ros the good news.’ She would want to hear this as soon as she could. Miss Myers would never wear her heart on her sleeve, but even a blind man could see that she cared about her team, and cared a lot. Ros may not ever become the most sociable person on the Grid, but for whatever reason she did look out for them, even those she did not particularly like, like Ben.

Merlin wondered what had become of him. Hopefully security would have released him from the paper archive by now. It would be even better if Ben had indeed found the proof they were looking for. But that did not even matter anymore, he supposed, not now Lucas had brought the photographic proof back with him.

Mordred looked a bit horrified, looking at Lucas and then at Merlin, as if hoping that one of them would step in and rescue him. Merlin himself knew all too well that Ros could be rather frightening and Mordred had no reason to believe that she would be any nicer too him now than she had been before. He waved him on all the same. Ros would be only more mad if she was kept waiting, especially on a day like today and Merlin had absolutely no ambition of getting on her bad side, not when he only just seemed to have gotten away from it. And Lucas clearly needed a moment. He was as white as a sheet and clearly upset. It did not suit him at all.

‘Are you all right?’ the warlock heard himself ask as soon as he was convinced that Mordred was out of earshot.

The spook gave a tentative nod, but he looked… well, haunted was the word, making Merlin realise that whatever had happened in Moscow was more frightening to him than the warlock would have believed possible. And there was a fairly good chance that he did not want Merlin to see that.

‘I’m fine.’ The words only served to underline what Merlin already suspected. Lucas straightened up. ‘I should thank you.’

The words sounded wooden and awkward and Merlin himself hardly knew what to do with them. To be honest, both of them usually avoided conversation without Arthur there as a buffer. What did you say to one another when there was so much history? Merlin knew he had been wrong in his assessment of the spy and that mistake had very nearly cost Lucas his life. And Lucas blamed him for that, blamed him for not being able to do what it took to protect Arthur himself, blamed him for not having any trust in him. And because Merlin blamed himself even worse than Lucas and Arthur combined and had no idea how he could even begin to make amends, he stayed away from Lucas. Lucas in turn seemed to be perfectly happy staying away from Merlin. Neither of them seemed to want to change the current situation, which made this all the more awkward.

In the end he managed a smile. ‘You’re welcome.’ It was nothing original or well-chosen, but it was the truth. He did not regret doing what he did. In fact, he was rather proud of it and he did owe Lucas. Maybe today he had begun to make up for the mistakes he had made.

Lucas looked in the direction in which Mordred had disappeared. ‘Who is he, Merlin?’

Merlin found he didn’t get the question and told him so. Lucas knew who he was, didn’t he? Mordred had introduced himself to him and that should have been enough to be getting on with.

Lucas misinterpreted his silence. ‘You don’t like me,’ he said brusquely. ‘I don’t like you very much either. But we’re on the same side now. Merlin, what does he want?’

He felt chastised and maybe he deserved it. Just now he’d almost sounded to even himself as if he was defending Mordred from a crime as of yet unspecified, just because he was someone he knew, someone from his own land, someone with magic. But he remembered that Ros had not been cheering about his arrival either and Jo, his closest friend here, had stopped smiling the moment she heard his name. And Lucas was suspicious to the extremes and, after his ordeal in Russia and his suffering at Morgana’s hands, with good reason. ‘I don’t mean it like that,’ he hastened to say. ‘I’m just not really sure what you’re trying to say. We are. On the same side, I mean.’ He’d better stop talking before it truly turned to rambling. But Lucas had that effect and Merlin knew that the history they had was mostly to blame for that. And it did not help matters that he did not know what Lucas was trying to ask him.

‘Do you trust him?’ The question sounded like an accusation.

And it almost made Merlin want to defend the Druid. He did not trust Mordred, but he had been so careful about keeping his suspicions to himself that he was reluctant about speaking out, especially to a man with whom he was almost permanently on the verge of an argument. But they were on the same side and Lucas would not have asked this question unless he had a very good reason.

‘Arthur does,’ he replied. The king’s opinion carried more weight with Lucas than Merlin’s. ‘I am not sure yet.’ He didn’t like that he didn’t know what it was that Lucas was asking and where he intended to go with this. ‘Why do you ask?’ This whole conversation was rapidly turning ever more awkward, but maybe that was just caused by his own desperate wish never having to have a conversation with Lucas North. He felt too ashamed of himself for not being capable of sparing him captivity and torture in Morgana’s hovel.

‘Is it possible that he tried to kill us in Moscow?’

The question came completely out of the blue and it took Merlin by surprise. ‘Yes,’ he heard himself reply. The surprise seemed to have taken away all control he had over his mouth and he answered before he could stop himself, which may tell him everything he needed to know about what he really thought about Mordred. ‘Do you mean that he tried to kill you?’ Lucas had said us, which indicated that he had been an intended victim as well as Merlin – he wryly noted that he did not even seemed to doubt for one moment that there had been an attempt on their lives – and that did not make sense. Merlin could come up with a number of reasons why Mordred would want him out of the way and had chosen to do so in Moscow, safely away from Arthur’s sight and in such a situation that it could have been an accident. But why try and kill Lucas? He had nothing to do with what was going on in Camelot. Mordred had never even met him before they came to the spy’s rescue hardly half an hour ago.

‘The first knife he threw,’ Lucas replied. ‘And a spell that only missed you because you stepped out of the way.’ He did not seem to be too anxious to have this conversation either, because he was brief and almost snappy, but they were having it and if Lucas was willing to overlook past events – and he had said as much – then Merlin perhaps should do the same.

And this did make sense. Mordred had thrown a knife and the aim had been off. Merlin remembered that Lucas had stepped out of the way and he had dragged Merlin with him to avoid him ending up with a knife in the throat, which would have meant his death. And the spell that had knocked the FSB officers off their feet had been cast hardly half a second after he had stepped out of the way. At first he had thought that the first knife had simply been wrongly thrown and the spell had been very neatly planned.

But the spell had flown past him when he had not even stopped moving, too hot on the heels of his change of position to be cast after he had done so. It must already have been cast when he did and that did lend credibility to Lucas’s words, even if it still didn’t explain why Lucas had been a target.

‘I believe you,’ he said, remembering all too well what had happened last time he had not believed him. Even though things did not quite add up, it sounded plausible, a confirmation of what he had long been expecting himself. ‘But why you?’ The question escaped him before he could stop himself. ‘I thought he was a danger only to Arthur. Why did he try to kill you?’ Lucas had been first in line to get hit by the Druid’s knife, which would mean that he truly had been a target and not just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Was it just because Mordred did not want to leave behind any witnesses to what he had done? It did make some sense, but not much.

‘I don’t know,’ Lucas confessed. ‘I had never seen him before today.’ He subjected Merlin to a positively scrutinising glance. ‘We should tell Arthur.’

If only that were possible. ‘He won’t believe it,’ Merlin remarked bitterly. ‘He thinks Mordred’s a hero. I’ve tried to tell him, but he won’t listen. Not without hard evidence.’

He didn’t need to mention Agravaine’s case, when Arthur had stubbornly believed that his uncle was innocent until he had the proof to the contrary. They both remembered. No matter how much faith the king of Camelot had in Lucas, he had an equal amount of trust in the Druid. And Arthur thought it an unforgivable crime to not trust his friends. Admirable though that might be, it was his biggest flaw as well. And while Merlin did not doubt for even a second that Lucas had spoken the truth, they had nothing but circumstantial evidence, which could just as easily mean something else. They both knew that it didn’t, but not even Ros, the most paranoid officer in this building, would not want to act on so little. Clumsiness, no matter how unforgivable, was no punishable crime and Mordred’s actions could too easily be put down to that.

‘But we can watch him.’ It was more a statement than a question.

Merlin nodded. ‘We can.’ It was awkward to talk about _we_ , as if they were friends, which they weren’t, as far as Merlin was aware. He didn’t even know where they stood. Mostly they tolerated each other for Arthur’s sake. To be allies, the only two privy to a piece of important information, that was new and something he did not quite know what to do with.

But he supposed he should be glad that someone believed him and had seen the things to back him up. Unfortunately it was not something that could be seen as conclusive evidence. But they were on the same side now, truly this time and not just in name.

‘Allies?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘Allies,’ Lucas agreed. He seemed not too happy at the prospect, but he was professional enough not to let any personal matters stand in the way of an operation. It was about time Merlin followed his example and did the same.

 

***

 

Night on the Grid was silent. Well, it was more quiet than during daytime, but it was never truly silent. There was always someone or something working late, following up on some clue or other and the sound of humming computer machinery provided the background music for Ros’s own late night activities.

She was too awake to even contemplate going home and get some rest, plagued by the feeling that this was not yet over. They had achieved some minor victories today: Harry had been released, Lucas was safely back and Connie had been detained, but it made no changes in the American plans for the missile defence shield in Poland and the Russians were still extremely pissed off, and would be even more so when they found out they had been tricked and had killed their own loyal people instead of the Sugarhorse assets they had thought they were eliminating. That was not very likely to make them do a happy dance around the Kremlin and it meant that they remained on high alert, even though the Sugarhorse crisis had been dealt with.

Knowing that sleep would elude her tonight, she had elected to stay on the Grid and get to the tedious task of report writing and reading. The task was mundane and utterly boring, but after the day she’d had, she found she craved the mundane. Soon enough things would go belly-up again. One of Harry’s assets had sent some intelligence back, a warning. It was something about Tiresias waking, but Ros had no idea what Tiresias even was. Well, she knew of the mythical Tiresias, but she doubted that was being referred to here, although she should probably not be surprised if it really was the case. Arthur and Merlin were all the proof she needed that legends apparently could come alive.

Speaking of legends, the Camelot inhabitants were staying on the Grid. Arthur was writing a report – that was what it looked like anyway – and Merlin was getting himself a cup of coffee, unwilling to leave the Grid when Arthur lingered. He had been absolutely devastated when he learned of Ben’s death, probably feeling that he could have prevented it from happening if he had stayed with the junior officer. He had not spoken more than five words since then. The warlock may be a bit of a clumsy idiot every now and then, but he cared. Ros had the feeling that he sometimes cared too much.

Mordred was nowhere in sight, but Ros did not particularly care about him, as long as he stayed out of her way. She had no idea what to make of him, even if it was quite obvious that Arthur thought very highly of him. Why that was the case was not entirely sure though. So far he hadn’t seemed to be doing anything, useful or otherwise.

The Grid was crowded tonight anyway. Jo had gone home, or so Ros hoped, after she had notified Ben’s family of his death, and so had Malcolm, and Connie had been taken away, but the rest of the core team was present. Harry had locked himself in his office with a much-needed Scotch and Lucas was stuck behind his desk. He looked like he should be in bed; he looked positively exhausted. Ros knew better than to order him to rest though. Lucas was a very poor sleeper and had more nightmares than Ros could ever imagine having, and she had a fair few of her own. After Moscow he was unlikely to get any rest. He had come in looking like a ghost himself, never mind that he looked like having seen one. Furiously she wondered what the hell Harry had been thinking when he sent the Senior Case Officer back to hell. True to his word, Lucas gave every impression of having been to hell and back again.

The report in front of her was utterly boring and told her nothing she didn’t already knew. Despite the crisis, they still maintained routine surveillance on several other people on the terrorist watch list and reading about what they’d had for lunch – what did she care that this suspect had a big love of fish and chips? – was mind-numbing to say the least. But it needed to be done and after today she was loath to load too much onto Harry already. He’d probably be working hard to work out just what the hell this Tiresias was, even when he shouldn’t so soon after his interrogation. Maybe her own attitude towards work was catching.

 _Oh, sod it all_. She shoved the file away from her in frustration and took a huge gulp of coffee, only to find that it had turned cold in the time she had been studying files. A muffled curse was the result as she got up and marched over to the kitchen to make herself another coffee. If she was going to spend here all night, she would need it. Her body was giving off signs that it wanted rest, but her mind was just too awake to even consider sleeping. The thoughts about today would inevitably keep her awake, so she might as well make use of it.

When she entered the small kitchen, it was only to find that she was not alone there. Lucas had apparently been thinking along the same lines and was making a pot of the stuff. ‘Want some, boss?’ he inquired when he saw her enter, holding out the pot invitingly.

Ros threw away the remnants of her stone-cold coffee and favoured him with a sarcastic look. ‘No, I think I’d prefer Scotch.’

Lucas grinned. It was nothing like his usual mischievous grin, but it was a start. At least it reached his eyes. ‘Wrong place, Ros. I think Harry’s whisky stash is the other way,’ he informed her quite unnecessarily. ‘I’m not sure Harry’s going to give it up without a fight though, so you might want to take Arthur with you. Or Merlin.’

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Very funny,’ she commented. ‘Are you going to give me that pot or are you planning to make a career out of pretending to be a signboard for a second-rate café?’

‘Who knows,’ Lucas said. ‘You’re certainly threatening me enough with letting me serve tea to the entire section to take the idea into consideration.’ After one of her exasperated looks he handed her the coffee pot though. ‘Are you okay, Ros?’

They may be friends, but that did not mean that she was suddenly okay with fussing and so she deliberately misinterpreted. ‘I’m your colleague,’ she pointed out. ‘I should bloody well hope so.’

Lucas stared at his coffee intently. ‘Not all of them are, though, are they?’

It was the very thing Ros herself found herself struggling with. Not all colleagues were okay. Connie had betrayed them, and what’s more, she had done it for similar reasons as Ros herself had done. She had said as much and as much as she hated it, Ros knew it to be the truth. She liked to think that she had never really sunk that low, that in that respect she was better than Connie, but treason was treason and she had done it.

No, she had never killed a colleague and she didn’t think she could ever have done that, not when it was a colleague’s disappearance that had driven her to get involved with Yalta in the first place. But she had betrayed her colleagues and that was just as bad. Maybe the worst thing was that this very fact enabled her to understand Connie’s reasons for doing what she had done. With both of them loathing of the United States and its actions had persuaded them to undertake action against the Americans. Ros had gotten involved with Yalta, while Connie had taken up with the Russians during the Cold War. And the very fact that she understood Connie’s reasons for doing what she had done – to a certain extent of course – deepened her loathing of the former intelligence analyst. Ros had learned her lesson, but Connie hadn’t and that was why Ros was currently Section Chief of Section D and Connie was in custody.

‘She is not a colleague anymore,’ she replied curtly, slamming her mug on the counter, making half of the newly poured contents splash out of it. She didn’t care.

‘She isn’t now,’ Lucas agreed. ‘But she was.’ He stared at his own mug again. ‘Arthur told me that she was the one to sell me out.’ He added another spoonful of sugar to his own mug, but Ros suspected it was just because he wanted to have a valid reason not to look at her. ‘It still seems so surreal. She always was so kind.’ He looked up. ‘When I first arrived though she told me that she was the stuff of nightmares. I thought it was a joke.’

‘More fool you,’ Ros remarked wryly. _More fool all of us_. None of them had ever truly believed in the possibility, not even Ros herself, who had known she was a candidate for it. She had sooner believed it of Malcolm, and that was saying something.

‘More fool me,’ Lucas nodded. ‘I just don’t get it, Ros. Not of Connie.’

This was trespassing on the personal again, even if he didn’t know he was doing it. The similarities between Connie’s case and Ros’s own were too striking for the Section Chief not to feel implicated. ‘You are aware that I am not actually one of those bloody shrinks, aren’t you? If you want tea and sympathy, you should go and talk to them.’

‘I thought you had condemned those as a waste of time and money?’ he asked. The comment sounded light enough, but Ros had not come as far as she had by being unobservant. There was hurt twinkling in his eyes and she realised that she may have been too dismissive. Again.

‘They are.’ Now it was her who took to stirring her coffee with a devotion mostly reserved for tracking down terrorists with dirty bombs in order to avoid eye contact. That was the thing with friends, she supposed. When you let them close, you started caring too much and before you knew it, you were emotionally compromised.

Lucas was not put off. ‘Well, we’re friends. I thought I’d annoy you after you had to make do without it all day.’

Ros snorted. ‘Oh, I think Arthur was trying to do a great job of filling in for you,’ she informed him. ‘I think he even went as far as to compare me with Merlin after a night in the tavern.’

Lucas tried and failed to hide his snort of laugher by hiding his face behind his mug. Given the fact that his face was bigger than the mug, that attempt was doomed to fail. ‘You care though,’ he said when he had his voice back under control. ‘Or you wouldn’t have sent Merlin after me.’

This was starting to look too much like gratitude to Ros and despite their friendship, she still didn’t know what to do with it. So she did what she did best with things like that: she side-stepped them. ‘I’d have done the same for anyone on the team.’ She would have, given the chance. Maybe that was why she felt she had failed Ben. ‘Besides, I needed that information you found.’ There, now she had made it sound like something that was merely professional. That at least she did know how to handle. Personal things she didn’t know. There was a reason she usually didn’t do friends. Lucas so far was the only one persistent enough to even try and sometimes Ros really didn’t know why he even put up with her. Goodness knew she wasn’t the easiest woman to be around.

‘You care though,’ he insisted. He studied her as Ros studied the coffee machine. ‘I don’t know why you won’t just let me thank you.’

He had expressed a similar sentiment after Operation Camelot and she had been in no hurry to let him go all emotional on her then either. ‘I would have done the same for anyone,’ she repeated, forcing the memory of Ben from her mind. She could do without that. It was rather too painful to think about her failure to protect him now and she certainly was not going to show Lucas just how much she was affected by it. ‘It’s in the job description. Didn’t you have the microdot document to look at anyway?’

She pretended not to see the hurt in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘Yeah, I do.’ He sent her that lopsided grin when something else clearly crossed his mind. ‘Thanks for the talk, Ros.’

He made to walk out of the kitchen, but she called him back. ‘We didn’t really talk,’ she pointed out. ‘I didn’t even say I bloody well cared.’

The smile on his face told her in advance that he would get the last word on the matter. ‘You didn’t deny it either.’

Lucas had disappeared back onto the Grid before Ros could even begin to think of a reply to that. It would be wasted time anyway; both of them knew he was right. Any attempts at fooling herself had gone right down the drain when she cried about Harry, fussed about Lucas and felt her blood both boil and freeze when she found out about Ben’s murder. She did care and Lucas, annoying as he was, knew it. Well, they were friends after all. She supposed she was allowed to. Still, it felt as if she was being compromised by caring and that was unacceptable, mostly because it had the very annoying and potentially dangerous tendency to interfere with her job-first-everything-else-later-attitude. She could not afford her priorities to get skewed. She only had to look at exactly how well that had worked out when she set out on her righteous crusade to find Zaf to know that that was not a path she could afford to walk again.

She was pondering this as she steadily worked her way through even more reports. The contents were so boring that she didn’t need to think very much, which was giving her mind a bit too much free time.

 _Stop wallowing, Myers_ , she told herself firmly. She had a job to do. This Tiresias was going live at three pm that afternoon and they still didn’t know what it was. But whatever it was, it was something nasty. Ros hardly expected any less after having thwarted the Russians successfully – Sugarhorse still mostly intact, the FSB mole caught and detained, Lucas in and out of Moscow safely _with_ the information and the Russians having killed their own people and therefore created certain chaos in their own ranks counted as a success in Ros’s book – but there were bound to be reprisals and nastiness was an FSB speciality.

As if to back that idea up, Lucas appeared at her desk, holding out a sheaf of photocopies of what she assumed to be the microdot document. It was not that which caught her attention first though. Lucas looked like he had seen something particular gruesome and was about to throw up.

‘What the bloody hell is wrong with you?’ she demanded. ‘Seen Morgana’s ghost?’

The brief reproachful look she got for that told her this was not funny, but he didn’t waste any words on it. ‘Look at it,’ he ordered.

The tone of voice rang with urgency and so Ros suppressed a snappy remark about who exactly was in charge here and took a look at the blown-up copies of the document. It was Russian, but a six months exile in Moscow had done wonders for her knowledge of the language. It didn’t take her long before she the meaning of the words started to sink in and then she cursed.

_Tiresias._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time Connie is questioned and for some reason Mordred tags along. Please review?


	15. Chapter 15

Merlin had a very bad feeling about this. What he didn’t know was whether this was just him having a bad feeling already or that the already present bad feeling was being increased in tenfold when he heard of the latest developments, if it could be called that. If anything, it was the biggest mess they may have encountered in quite some time. This whole business might even trump Operation Camelot.

All things put together, things weren’t looking good. And in this case it was easy to identify where and when he had gone wrong. It had all gone pear-shaped the moment he had left Ben in the paper archive alone and had completely forgotten about him until Jo told the team that someone had tampered with the locks. Part of him had been hoping that Ben had simply been locked up in there, but upon his return to Thames House Ros informed him that he was dead, confirming that undefined feeling he’d been having since he ran into Connie on his way back to the Grid. And he could not help but feel that somehow he was the one to blame for what had happened to Ben. If he had paid attention to his funny feeling, Ben might still have been alive. There was no way that Connie could have murdered him when Merlin had been present as well and he was fully aware of that.

The guilt made him unable to rest and so he had opted to stay on the Grid. He could have asked Jo if he could stay with her for the night, as had been arranged originally, but she had gone before he could ask and he didn’t have the heart to phone her. If she wanted company, she would have let him know. Merlin was not even sure he was in the mood for company himself, so he had retreated behind his desk and had pretended to be very busy with the papers and files on it, which discouraged everyone to come close and make conversation.

Arthur had stayed as well, doing some real work. He had taken Connie’s betrayal personal and was working hard in order to try and forget about it. Mordred was sleeping in a room somewhere, so Merlin at least did not have to worry about him for a while. It didn’t mean he was not completely puzzled by what had transpired. It didn’t make sense. Lucas had clearly been a target of Mordred’s, but he couldn’t think of why. They had never even met before. The longer he thought on it, the more mysterious it became and that was not a good thing.

But it would have to wait. He had no evidence whatsoever, only Lucas’s testimony – which could easily be interpreted as him not having seen things clearly – and Merlin’s own intuition. They would have to watch and try and work out what Mordred’s game was. It wasn’t a prospect he found himself liking very much. It felt too risky. But there were no other options. Without evidence it was impossible to get anywhere, as he well knew from bitter experience, and there was a more urgent crisis that needed attention.

It was with some shock that he listened to the team briefing Lucas gave them in the meeting room after the red-flash. By now Merlin had quite grasped the magnitude of the Sugarhorse operation and it was in no way pleasant to learn that the Russians had a similar operation in Britain, codenamed Tiresias. And, according to Harry, it was bigger and better. There were more assets, they had been in place for far longer and, most importantly, Section D had absolutely no idea who they were. With Tiresias’s waking so imminent, that was bound to be bad news, very bad news indeed.

‘Exactly how big is this thing?’ It was the first time Ros spoke – before now she had been studying the file in front of her – but the tension was audible.

Lucas looked positively grim. ‘It’s everywhere,’ he replied. ‘All political parties, civil service, police service, armed forces, security service, MI-5 and MI-6.’

‘All of them?’ Jo seemed to be choking on the thought.

‘And there could be hundreds of them,’ Harry added, as if things weren’t dire enough. ‘Motivated by greed, ideology, hatred…’

Ros shook her head. If Merlin had not known better, he would have thought that it was a gesture of defeat, of not knowing what to do. That, however, was so unlike Ros that he dismissed that fanciful thought immediately. ‘So, the thing is that if the Russians have sleepers spread that wide and buried that deep, we have no idea who we can trust.’

‘But we’re sure that this section is not infiltrated by Tiresias,’ Arthur stated. It may have been meant as a question, but that was not how he made it sound. ‘Connie was the Russian mole in this section. It’s unlikely they’ll have more in one single section, isn’t it? That would make the network too big to keep track of, I think.’ Merlin was not sure when or how Arthur had gotten the hang of this job, but he had a lingering suspicion that Connie was to thank – or blame – for that. She was the one who had taught Arthur most of the things he knew about spying and now the warlock was actually quite surprised at how well he seemed to do.

Harry nodded reluctantly. ‘It is unlikely.’

But not impossible. Until they knew which people belonged to the network, no one could safely be excluded from suspicion, no matter how much they hated that. It was the uncertainty, the not knowing, that was worst though. They didn’t know who was involved and so everyone would be looked at through suspicion-tainted glasses. It was like the Sugarhorse crisis all over again.

‘We’ll be looking at a specific age group,’ Ros spoke up. She looked thoughtful, but she seemed to get Arthur’s idea. ‘The Kremlin recruited those people about twenty-five years ago, so they’ll all be around Harry’s age and older.’

‘All of them senior figures in their respective fields,’ Lucas pointed out pessimistically. ‘Likely authorised to give orders that can cripple the entire country. Even the people we may still be able to trust can unknowingly be taking orders from Tiresias.’

That was a very frightening prospect, Merlin would have to admit. Before now he had not truly grasped just what this network would be capable of doing, but in just a few words Lucas had summarised it perfectly. Even if this section was now not infiltrated anymore, what good could one team do against such a massive operation?

‘And now Tiresias wakes,’ Jo whispered, clearly in a state of shock herself.

‘At three pm, today,’ Ros finished.

Merlin instinctively looked at the clock. They had been here all night and more time had passed than he had believed possible. Seven o’clock. That gave them only eight hours till catastrophe hit. And they had no idea what kind of disaster they were even anticipating. They knew that Tiresias could cripple the United Kingdom, but in what way was uncertain. Whatever Lucas had been able to make out from that document he had been reading – in Merlin’s opinion it was a miracle anyone could make anything of those strange letters – it didn’t include what they should be looking out for. Normally eight hours may seem like an eternity, today it seemed like far too little time to do anything.

No one said it. No one said that they could not possibly know where to start or what to do. The silence in the meeting room did that for them though. Fortunately no one seemed to be thinking that they just sit back and wait till their time was up to see what was going to happen. MI-5 was there to prevent bad things from happening, not to clean up the mess afterwards. It did not change the fact that they had no idea where to begin, what to look for, who to talk to.

Merlin stopped right there. Because maybe they did. Maybe it was because he had already been thinking about her that he now remembered, but the why did not really matter. ‘Connie,’ he said. Now that he said it, it all sounded so logical. He felt rather stupid for not thinking of it sooner. ‘She was a mole for the Russians,’ he elaborated when he found himself confronted with a good few confused faces. ‘Surely she must know something.’

‘Just because she spied for them is no reason to believe that she will have gotten information in return, Merlin,’ Lucas pointed out.

‘I don’t believe that.’ To his surprise it was Ros who spoke. ‘Not of Connie. She’s too clever. She knew the day would be coming when her cover would be blown and she’ll have prepared for it.’ Her eyes were sparking with something that appeared to be a mixture of excitement and anger. ‘She’ll have stashed away intelligence on various Russian operations, most of them probably long-term operations, because that would be useful the longest. It’ll be her insurance.’

‘How do you know?’ Jo asked. ‘Is that what you would have done?’ There was an edge to her voice that Merlin did not quite like the sound of. It was almost as if the junior officer was accusing Ros of something. It was just that he was not certain of what it was. Maybe Jo was just upset. The warlock knew she had been close friends with Ben, that it was her who had gotten him in touch with the Service in the first place and that she therefore felt responsible for him. It must feel like a failure to her that she had been unable to protect and save Ben from Connie.

Ros apparently thought there was more to it than just Jo being upset, if the glare she bestowed on her colleague was anything to go by. ‘Yes, Jo, that is exactly what I would have done if I’d had the time.’ It hit Merlin only then that Ros had a history of betrayal and that her thoughts on Connie could be more than an educated guess. Judging by the uncomfortable looks he saw around him, he was not the only one to have come to that particular realisation. Ros however didn’t see the looks or pretended not to notice them. ‘Connie’s had about thirty years to gather intelligence. There’s bound to be something about Tiresias. We need a way inside Tiresias quickly and at the moment she’s our best chance.’

 _She’s our only chance_. Merlin knew better than to say that. Things were really that desperate. And he had no idea how he had even gotten this involved. Maybe it was because of Ben. He owed it to the young officer to repay him, make amends for failing him so badly. And Arthur was not planning on leaving; he’d known the king long enough to know when his mind was made up. And once Arthur had decided to do something, not even Morgana and Al-Qaeda combined would suffice to persuade him otherwise. Arthur was just too stubborn and violently loyal to those he considered friends and Merlin had a lingering suspicion that Ros was close to becoming a friend, even if neither of them was aware of that fact yet.

‘But Connie’s in custody, awaiting due process,’ Harry pointed out.

The former intelligence analyst was no longer theirs to question. Malcolm had explained it to him. She’d be kept in custody throughout the night and then be transported to a place called Nemworth for interrogation. Merlin wondered if that would be the same kind of interrogation that Harry had to endure only yesterday. Connie may deserve it after all she had done, but still, the thought made him feel slightly sick. Once more he realised that in many ways this world was harsher that the world he knew. Chivalry and the knight’s code were non-existent here.

‘And, given the circumstances, we’ll have to assume that Tiresias will be watching her,’ Harry added, which Merlin mentally translated as Tiresias seeking a way to silence her before she could give MI-5 the information they needed.

‘We’ll make it look like the Russians took her,’ Lucas suggested. ‘The Tiresias assets won’t be kept in the loop by the FSB and by the time they have ascertained that Connie’s abduction was not part of any FSB plan, we’ll be long gone.’

Something sparked in his eyes. Before now Merlin had always thought it creepy, something that was bordering on evil. Now he was not as certain anymore. Before now he had never been really part of the group either, but now he was bound to them in a way that he found hard to understand and that felt like it was conflicting with his duty to Arthur and Camelot as well. But he had failed Ben and that had given Connie the opportunity she needed to silence him. And he owed Section D more debts than he wanted after Operation Camelot as well. But this was not just about debts and repayment; Ben’s death had made it personal.

‘And she knows what goes on at Nemworth,’ Ros chimed in. ‘She’ll cooperate.’ She looked at Harry directly. ‘We have no choice, Harry. We have to use her.’

Harry gave a curt nod. ‘Do it,’ he ordered. ‘Pick her up. I will meet you at Ottawa Bravo. Arthur, Mordred, you go with them. Merlin, with me. We may need to shield Thames House magically again.’

He had given that idea some thought already. They weren’t attacked or watched magically this time, but most magical protection worked just as well on and against non-magical people as it did on magical folk. And there was no way of knowing who could be trusted still, not now Tiresias was rearing its ugly head. For all they knew not even Richard Dolby or the Home Secretary were trustworthy any longer. And that, Merlin thought, was something that was altogether an unpleasant thought.

Still, as he thought longer about it, he realised that Mordred would be going with Lucas and Arthur. After what had happened in Moscow it was clear that the young Druid was in no way to be trusted, even if they could safely say that he was not involved with Tiresias in any way. But Arthur would not be safe as long as Mordred was around, Merlin knew that much. If he himself was a target, Arthur would be too. And Mordred had already tried to kill Lucas for reasons as of yet unspecified. To leave both of them alone with the Druid seemed reckless, a mistake of the same kind that leaving Ben with Connie had been.

‘Would it not be better if I went to snatch Connie?’ he offered. ‘Mordred could stay here and do the protection spells.’ He was not sure he trusted Mordred with that either, but at least it would keep him away from his intended targets and that was a priority here. The rest was unimportant compared to that.

His excuses had been too flimsy though and Arthur looked right through them. ‘For heaven’s sake, _Mer_ lin,’ he growled. ‘You stay here, do the work and come in with Harry.’ He was talking to his servant as if he was addressing a particularly stupid child. ‘I can look after myself. Besides, I’ve got Mordred to look after me.’ With his sternest look he almost challenged the warlock to protest.

But Merlin held his tongue. As much as he wanted to speak up, he could not tell Arthur of his suspicions. Arthur would not believe them and as there was no evidence for them, Harry would not believe him either. Arthur would put them down to Merlin’s “insane” fear of prophecies and go his own way, as he always did. He desperately wish that he could speak out, but there was just no way of doing it. His hands clenched into fists.

To his surprise it was Lucas who spoke. ‘Don’t worry, Merlin,’ he said in a tone of voice that Merlin could call nonchalant, almost uncaring. ‘I’ll keep an eye on the king, keep him from tripping over his own feet.’ But his eyes were serious and that made all the difference in the world. The Senior Case Officer did not have magic, would never have it either, but for some reason Merlin felt reassured. He was no longer truly alone in this.

 

***

 

Lucas North had not come this far in the Service by being a fool. When Merlin’s expression had become something that could only be described as outright panic, he had known exactly what had brought that on. He had felt a surge of panic himself at being on an op with the very man who had so shortly before tried to murder him without as much as blinking his eyes and it was only logical that Merlin did not trust Mordred anywhere even remotely near the Once and Future King.

And he still didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the rage, the hatred he had seen in Mordred’s eyes. He had never even met the young man before he showed up in Moscow with Merlin, so what grudge he would have against him was a mystery. That he had one was a fact. The look in his eyes had been unmistakable and it was something unsettling to see in someone this young. How old was the kid anyway? He could barely be out of his teens, if he was even that. What made a lad that age like this?

But never mind the why, he needed to deal with the facts and that was what he did. He did as he promised to Merlin and kept a very close eye on Mordred as they lifted Connie and took her to Ottawa Brava. It went off without a hitch. Mordred did what was expected of him, more than that which was expected of him if the truth be told, and at some point even Lucas started to doubt his first assessment of the situation. Mordred seemed so nice…

But that was a trap he could not fall in. He had the evidence of his own eyes to go on and that was not something he was in any hurry of forgetting. Yes, the knife, it could have been a bad aim, even if it would have been a _very_ bad aim indeed, had he not thrown the second knife with deathly precision. The spell aimed at Merlin did not seem like a mistake either, which could only mean that the knife had been a deliberate assassination attempt as well. He couldn’t figure out why still, but that one thing at least was certain.

Ros and Arthur dragged Connie between them as they exited the car. They had not spoken as much as a word since they had forcefully lifted her and a bag over her head prevented her from knowing where they were going. Arthur was boiling over with righteous rage though. Lucas didn’t think he had ever quite seen the king of Camelot like that. Of course there was no knowing how he had reacted to Morgana’s betrayal, but he had seen the sadness when he found out about Agravaine’s. There had been anger then as well, but not as much as he witnessed now. In a way it was an alarming development.

He got out of the car and removed the gloves he’d been wearing. He felt a bit more like himself and a bit less like a villain in a second-rate movie. He’d said that to Ros on their way to grab Connie, who had replied with an eye roll that didn’t need any further translation. It was good to have that harmless banter restored. It was a welcome change from the cold hostility of Moscow. He would never admit to this out loud, but he needed this, needed it to keep him sane. Ros was not a warm personality, but she was a friend and he found himself in need of those, especially with Tiresias and Mordred being such pressing concerns. Ros would call him soppy, which was why he had not mentioned it.

Mordred lingered nearby. He could have followed Ros and Arthur in, but he didn’t and Lucas wondered why. He had a gun on him and would not be afraid to use it should the need arise, but he doubted he’d be fast enough. Lucas had seen Morgana’s magic and it had been fast. Moscow proved that he was just as quick and just as lethal. Merlin may be paranoid where Arthur’s safety was concerned, but in this he was absolutely justified.

And yet Mordred looked about as dangerous as Merlin as he stood there, clearly nervous about something. ‘I wanted to apologise,’ he said eventually. ‘For what happened in…  Moscow, wasn’t it?’ Lucas nodded his confirmation. ‘I’m new to this. I haven’t handled much weapons during my life and it’s so much more different from magic than I thought it would be. I thought I could do it, you know.’ He looked a bit rueful. ‘I didn’t mean to put you in harm’s way.’

 _Didn’t you?_ But Lucas kept his face blank. He had seen the hatred and that had cured him of any doubt he may still feel. He seemed in distress now, but it did not escape his notice that the Druid seemed to be avoiding eye contact, instead looking at his boots with a devotion he himself mostly reserved for catching terrorists.

The thing was that Mordred sounded so sincere. Had Lucas not seen what he had seen and had he not been a spook, he might have bought the explanation. It was almost too easy to see why Arthur didn’t see what was so obvious to Lucas and Merlin both. Combined with his attitude to refuse to see the bad in people he trusted, it was unlikely for him to see sense before Mordred revealed himself for what he truly was and even that was still uncertain. Until then, he’d have to play along, pretend he didn’t know anything.

‘No harm done,’ he said curtly. ‘Let’s go in.’

He let Mordred go in first though. No matter what, he would not show his back to someone who had proven that he wanted him dead. And he had to consider that Merlin and he may not be the only intended targets. He had learned by now not to take legends too seriously, but they were speaking of Mordred being a traitor, someone who fought Arthur, which might mean that the king was indeed in danger. But why target Lucas? If he wanted to leave no witnesses behind he would have killed him last, or left him to the FSB. It would be easy to come back to London with the news that he had tried, but had failed in his task. Everyone would have believed him, because that was the reality they lived with. All in all, things didn’t add up and that usually did not bode well in this line of work.

His arrival in the room coincided with the arrival of Harry and Merlin. The warlock shot him a questioning glance, which Lucas answered with a reassuring nod of his own. Nothing had gone wrong. Yet. But Moscow might make things go belly-up before Mordred could strike again. It might have to be that the Russians had to have his priority now.

Harry certainly seemed to think so. No sooner had Lucas removed the bag from over Connie’s head when he simply said: ‘Tiresias.’

Connie looked unshaken for someone who was a dead woman walking. She didn’t look like she had killed an innocent man, had sold a colleague out to the Russians and had framed another for treason. She did not even seem surprised to be here, which was the most alarming thing of all.

‘A seer,’ she replied. ‘Condemned by Dante to spend all eternity with his head twisted round. A prophet who could only look backwards.’ Was this all just a game to her? It felt like that. It certainly sounded like it.

Lucas found himself studying the woman responsible for his eight years of hell. Arthur had told him the truth about it. Apparently he had been the one to ask on Lucas’s behalf, because he believed he had a right to know who had done that to him, and Connie had replied that she had no choice. Arthur had condemned that as nonsense. Lucas did as well. This scheming woman was the farthest from a victim with no choices, the farthest from the grandmother type he’d ever seen. This was a scheming woman and something told him that no amount of torture would make her part with her secrets. Worse, she knew that they needed her and she would use that leverage. When it all came down to it, they had no choice but to dance to her tune.

‘I’m tired of the dance, Connie.’ Harry did sound weary. ‘What do you want?’

It should come as no surprise that she wanted to get out of England, as she said, in that same calm manner as she had spoken before. It was as if she was not concerned at all.

Harry however was and he was none too eager to give her what she wanted either. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he replied curtly.

‘I thought the dancing had stopped.’ There was some tension, a sense of urgency, audible now. Maybe that calm façade was not necessarily anything more than that. But Connie had been in this job for so long that it was impossible to tell. ‘Don’t see, just do.’

‘The alternative is that I can always break your fingers one by one.’ If Connie sounded cold, Ros sounded icy. And she meant it too. Lucas thought that he had her figured out by now, so he knew when she was being serious. She was now. When Ros wanted to be, she could be cold and uncaring and she did hold Connie responsible for the death of one of her officers. There was no telling what she would and wouldn’t do.

‘You don’t have the balls,’ Connie said. She seemed awfully certain of herself as she directed a dismissive stare at Ros.

The Section Chief returned it with interest. ‘You don’t think so?’

Lucas did think so, but he didn’t think it would work. They all knew how things were and Connie would use the advantage that gave her. If she had proven anything in the last few days, it was that she knew how to save her own worthless hide. Connie James, stuff of nightmares. He should have believed her when she said that and they might be in an entire different place now. But she always seemed so harmless and she had always been friendly to him, so he had never given it any more thought. More fool him.

Connie was in no way harmless. In fact, she may be the most dangerous woman in London right now. And she played them like a fiddle. Her triumphant smile when she revealed that the whole of Tiresias was hers to give to them proved that. But there was going to be a price tag attached and it would mean that she essentially would get away with everything she had done. It seemed unfair after all that had transpired, after all the harm she had caused, but work would always come first. It was the nature of this job. _Regnum defende_. In that moment, Lucas hated the words.

And apparently, so did Arthur. ‘Of course, I could always have Merlin put a spell on you and get the information without paying the price.’ It was nothing short of a miracle that he had been able to maintain his silence for so long. Ros had once referred to Arthur Pendragon as the knight in shining armour, the one who leapt to his friends’ defence without as much as a second thought. She was right about that. There seemed to be no greater crime anyone could commit than to harm or, worse, betray the people the Once and Future King cared about.

Connie looked unimpressed. ‘I am not Bob Hogan,’ she pointed out. ‘That tactic won’t work on me. You have never done such a thing.’

‘It doesn’t mean that I am not capable of it.’ Arthur must have spent too much time with Ros. There was no other explanation for his attitude. ‘Question is: are you willing to take your chances?’ It seemed wrong somehow that someone as honourable as Arthur Pendragon had a need to become like the people he worked with. ‘You’d be left with nothing. We might even hand you to the Russians afterwards and see how well you like how they treat their guests. Get a taste of your own medicine, as it were.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur,’ Connie chastised, almost as if she was the kind and considerate granny she had been playing for so long. ‘You are not a spy. You’re too honourable to do such a thing.’

‘I executed my own uncle after he betrayed me,’ Arthur said. ‘You committed the same crime. You also subjected a man who risked his life for me to eight years of torture. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so sure.’

The frightening thing about this was that it sounded like something he might do and Connie knew that too. She didn’t spare Arthur another glance, turning to Harry instead. ‘Has Tiresias gone live?’ At least she stopped messing around; Arthur had achieved that.

‘We believe so,’ Lucas said. It almost felt surreal. Part of his brain was still trying to convince him that this as a mistake, that they had caught the wrong person. But they would not have. That menacing woman that still had her hands tied behind her back, that was someone he didn’t even know and in a way it made it easier for him to keep his distance from her, to really see her as the Russian mole she was. He only wished that they were not so dependent on her.

Connie told them to check the number stations. The Camelot company clearly didn’t know what they were, but Lucas did and for something that found its origins in the Cold War, it only seemed natural to use that.

True enough, soon enough they heard back from Malcolm. ‘What is _Rain from heaven_?’ Harry said.

Connie was stalling and they all knew it. She began to repeat what she wanted in exchange for her cooperation now. It grated on Lucas’s every nerve. To him it proved that, no matter what Connie said, she was frightened. It only became really obvious when she demanded protection from the Russians. ‘I’m going to need it.’ She cast a meaningful glance at Lucas. ‘Because one is familiar with the benefits of Russian hospitality.’

‘I wasn’t aware there were any,’ Merlin remarked. He had been quiet ever since he learned of Ben’s death. Lucas had a lingering suspicion Ros wasn’t the only person blaming herself. Merlin was quite skilled at doing the exact same thing.

But it hurt as well and it angered him too. That she had the nerve to rub his nose in the torment he’d had to endure because of her betrayal, that was just too much. It was only by keeping his mind strictly on operational level that he could prevent himself from doing something stupid of Arthurian proportions. ‘What is it, Connie?’ he questioned. ‘What is _Rain from heaven_?’

This time she did answer and it left his head reeling. And apparently not only his head. ‘Beg your pardon?’ Ros didn’t do shock, but it seemed that she came close now.

‘Portable nuclear bombs,’ Connie repeated. ‘ _Rain from heaven_ is the go-code for a nuclear attack on London. And if the intended sleeper received the code this morning, you have a matter of hours before millions of people are annihilated.’

‘Three pm,’ Ros whispered.

All pieces were falling into place. It didn’t make their job any easier. London could not be evacuated in so short a time and if they did sound the alarm on this, the panic could be just as lethal as any nuclear device. It would alert Tiresias that they knew what was going on as well. There really was only the one option: to locate and neutralise the device themselves inconspicuously and then use Connie’s knowledge of the operation to dismantle it. He voiced that thought and Harry agreed.

Connie did seem to know what the message meant, but not all of it. ‘I happen to know that _Rain from heaven_ is a nuclear suitcase bomb, because that is the thing one finds hard to forget.’

‘And the rest?’ Ros demanded, impatiently. Like Lucas, she must be all too aware of the time.

‘I don’t have it all memorised,’ the former intelligence analyst snapped irritably. ‘I’ve got it written down and stashed.’

‘Your insurance policy.’ The Section Chief both looked and sounded disgusted.

‘We all need an exit plan.’ It was the fact that she was so calm, so collected, seemingly so unaffected by what was going on that made Lucas want to throttle her on the spot. London could be annihilated in a matter of hours, yet she kept on playing games with them. Yes, there was anger about what she had done to him as well, but if he had put personal concerns over national security, he’d have told the FSB everything he knew when they tortured him. Ros was not the only one who valued her career over almost everything else.

‘Then give it to us.’ Arthur was getting impatient. ‘I haven’t quite given up on my idea to let Merlin loose on you. Where. Is. The. File.’ For a moment Lucas had the bizarre mental image of Merlin as a vicious guard dog set loose on an intruder by its angry master.

The answer was as predictable as it was problematic. ‘Dead drop. London Bridge.’

‘If Tiresias is watching, we may have some trouble getting there,’ Lucas observed. ‘Unscathed.’

‘I could transport us there,’ Merlin spoke up. ‘If I could manage all the way to Moscow, I can do London Bridge.’

‘That’s hardly inconspicuous,’ Mordred said. By now Lucas had almost forgotten he was even there. He had kept to the background and had listened more than he had spoken. To be honest, the Senior Case Officer wasn’t entirely sure why he was still with them. Mordred was not a spy and he seemed to have no real value. Why was he still here? ‘Arriving in a whirlwind _is_ going to draw attention to us. Right now we have one great advantage.’ He looked around the room, but everyone was temporarily too stunned by the fact that he had interrupted that no one answered. He supplied the answer himself. ‘Magic. If we transport now, they know. They could panic and bring the attack forward. If we go there on foot, we won’t be so easily noticed.’

‘What do you know about spying?’ Merlin’s tone of voice was hostile immediately and Lucas found himself in agreement. Yes, Mordred had a point, a very good point even, but he should not even be involved in this, never mind that he was telling trained spies how to do their job. And they would be more vulnerable on foot. Mordred might even have reasons of his own to try and get them out in the open. Lucas remembered only too well what had happened last time Mordred had two of them on their own and he was not willing to subject himself to a repeat performance.

‘Emrys, I’m trying to help,’ the Druid pleaded, looking rather like a lost little puppy with big wide eyes. ‘I’ve had to survive before. I’ve been hunted before. Sometimes hiding my magic was the best way to go unnoticed, to escape the people hunting me.’

Merlin looked unyielding.

‘I’m useless here.’ Mordred threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. Lucas couldn’t fail but notice that, had he been born in this day and age, he’d have made for a very good actor. ‘Let me do something I actually can do.’

_Like trying to assassinate people and hope to make it look like the FSB’s handiwork._

Ros cut in before he could let that remark slip or before Arthur could embark on another righteous crusade to defend Mordred from Merlin’s suspicion. ‘He’s right,’ she said, frustrated. ‘He’s bloody well right. We’ll have to make do on foot.’

‘We haven’t got the time, Ros,’ Lucas pointed out. He kept his sense of unease out of his reasoning and kept it strictly professional; the Service did not make decisions based on feelings of unease.

Connie added her own contribution to that. ‘He’s right,’ she said. ‘You don’t have the time. Tick, tick, tick.’ She looked at Lucas first, then at Harry. ‘Do you think the Russians don’t know you’ve got me?’ she questioned. ‘Do you think I haven’t let them know where every safe house is?’

Her treason had run deeper than any of them had been able to imagine; she must have told them everything of importance. It wasn’t just murder, framing her boss for treason he didn’t commit and selling out her own colleague to the FSB. If she was to be believed – and Lucas didn’t want to believe her – then nowhere was safe anymore.

_Shit!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Lucas warns Mordred, Arthur snaps at Connie and the Russians are their charming selves. Please review?


	16. Chapter 16

Lucas could feel the tension coursing through his veins as he exited the safe house ahead of the others, scanning the surroundings for any sign of FSB presence. If Connie had spoken the truth, then this was no longer a safe place to be and with Connie now betraying the organisation she had worked for, the Russians were unlikely to be doing a happy dance around the City. It would be more than an educated guess to say that they were watching everything and everyone.

There wasn’t anything that seemed out of the ordinary, but then, FSB officers were well-trained. They would know how to look as inconspicuously as possible. There was a very distinct possibility of someone not being who they pretended to be, but it was a chance he had to take. They could not linger here indefinitely, not with the threat of a nuclear suitcase bomb hanging over them and less time every second to defuse it. Even if these people were FSB, they could not remain here; it’d be like painting a target on their foreheads.

He signalled the others that the coast was clear, at least for now. Arthur was the first to exit, practically dragging Connie with him. An outsider would not see it as that, though. To them it might just seem like a young man helping an elderly woman on her way. Arthur may be boiling over with righteous rage, but he had learned since he had come to London the first time.

Ros was right behind them, keeping an eye out for any more potential trouble, followed by Mordred and Merlin, who had his eyes on the soon-to-be knight rather than his surroundings. Given the circumstances Lucas could not blame him for acting like that. In his opinion Mordred was an additional threat to the one they were dealing with already and that he really could do without.

‘I’ll keep an eye on him,’ he assured the warlock in passing. He was not thrilled by the idea of having to work with Merlin, especially since what had happened during Operation Camelot, but he’d rather die than let a grudge come in the way of national security. And if Mordred for some reason chose to target serving intelligence officers – because that was what they all were now – during a bloody crisis, that was a threat to national security.

Merlin nodded. Somehow it was still strange to be in an alliance with the man who for all intents and purposes was Arthur’s shadow. They had spent too long distrusting the other and mending fences would not in any way be easy. That was, if they could be mended at all and that was something Lucas rather doubted.

Harry was the last one to leave the safe house. ‘What was that about?’ he asked.

Lucas shook his head. ‘Later.’ He trusted Harry, but only to a certain extent. He trusted Harry to risk everything for his officers and he trusted him to do whatever it took to make this operation end with aforementioned officers still in one piece and London still going on as it always had. He didn’t trust him to take his suspicions about Mordred serious though. It had taken him awfully long as well to trust him with what it was he truly knew about Sugarhorse. No matter how much Lucas may want to, that wasn’t something that was easily forgotten.

He closed the door of the safe house and glanced around te street again, searching for any signs that trouble was afoot. The man with the phone was still talking and there was a woman with a pram walking towards them at a leisurely pace. Not quite the place to take a baby for a walk, he noted, and it set his alarm bells off right away. Of course, there was no rule forbidding women from taking their kids for a walk in unconventional places, but out of place was generally wrong in his line of work. It made his skin crawl.

His gaze shifted to the man with the mobile phone. Whatever conversation was going on, it was too soft for him to hear, but his lip-reading was not too bad. That was not English that he was speaking. ‘He’s speaking Russian.’ Maybe it was because he was so aware of the possibility of Russians skulking about that he could place it as quickly as he did, but he could not care less about the why.

The supposed mother was making very familiar gestures, the ones people made when they were pulling out a gun. It was almost reflex to reach for his own and fire it at the source of danger before he had thought it through. It was the same instinct that had made him kill the FSB officer in the bar in Moscow.

He could hear the sound of running feet when the shooting started in earnest. Lucas didn’t pay any attention to it. They were with him and not the ones he had to worry about now. His main concern was his attackers. So far he had seen three: the woman, the man with the mobile and a man on a rooftop, also armed with a gun. There could be more though. If this was a kill squad, as he was starting to suspect, then there should be three more. Where they were, he dreaded to think.

And there was no time to think it all through anyway. He was hiding behind cars – several owners would soon find their vehicles windowless and pierced with several bullets – and that didn’t offer the best opportunity for glancing around to see where the rest of the squad was hiding out. At the moment the man with the mobile, although a gun had replaced the mobile now – was the worst threat, the one in the best position to kill. As long as he still stood there and had bullets to fire, they were in a lot of trouble.

The break came half a minute later. It had to be a lucky shot, because there was not much time to really aim before he fired, but that didn’t matter. Mobile Man had his brains splashed all over the garage door behind him and that was the main threat out of the way for the time being. ‘ _Run_!’ he yelled at that part of the group that was still crouching behind cars. With some measure of shock Lucas realised he was the only one armed.

They didn’t need telling twice. The sound of bullets being fired was the background music to their escape. Ros, who was leading the way, made for the first alley they came upon. ‘We need to split up!’ she yelled. And she was right. They were too easy a target now and they needed to lose their tail sooner rather than later.

‘Rendezvous at Catherine Wheel Alley,’ Harry ordered. He was digging up his phone to make a call to the Grid, while Lucas kept an eye on their pursuers. But he was running out of bullets and by the time he’d have replaced those, the FSB would be upon them.

‘ _Astrice_!’ someone shouted. The kill squad was literally blown off their feet. They fell down and didn’t get up again. Lucas looked up to see the warlock standing next to him, smiling sheepishly. ‘We’re allies,’ he said, by way of an explanation.

Lucas merely nodded. ‘They’re dead?’

‘Just unconscious, I think. The spell will knock them out for about the quarter of an hour?’ He phrased it as a question rather than a statement and that did nothing to calm Lucas’s growing feeling of unease. This was his territory, but he was prey rather than hunter and they all knew it. Moscow rules, he thought. For now, for all intents and purposes, London was enemy territory. They had no idea how big Tiresias was and just what they had access to, but it would be safe to say that they, and not MI-5, had the advantage now. It was good to have an ally at least, even when Lucas was not certain whether he could truly trust Merlin. There was too much history there.

‘We need to move.’ That was a statement. There was no telling whether there were more FSB officers on their way, but he was not willing to take chances. ‘We’ll distract them from Arthur, Connie and Ros and then re-join them.’ There was a fairly good chance that they had gotten away while Lucas had been holding their attention; they had already disappeared out of sight and Ros was good at counter-surveillance. She’d find a way, he’d stake his life on that.

Harry gave a curt nod while he was wrapping up his conversation on the phone, but Mordred looked doubtful. ‘I should try to reach the others,’ he said. ‘They’re unarmed and they don’t have magic. If they’re shot at, they won’t have anyone to defend them.’ It sounded so sincere that Lucas was almost tricked into thinking that the young man was genuine. The point was that he always seemed to be so genuine. He had been genuine in his hatred too.

‘If you’ll follow them now, you’ll draw attention towards them,’ he said curtly. He still had to act as if this could be nothing more than it seemed, not until he had proof. ‘Harry, once we get the file, we’ll need someone on the Grid who can act on that intelligence.’ Harry was too old for running around London like this and although Ros had not said much about what had been done to his boss in his absence, Lucas had a memory to draw on, to remind him exactly of what interrogators were capable of. It would not have been FSB-level, but it would have been bad. ‘We’re not going to stop this from happening if you’re not back on the Grid.’

The Section Head looked doubtful, as if he was not sure that Lucas was saying this for the reason he had just mentioned. He’d be right to. Lucas didn’t exactly know when he had become this protective of his boss, but maybe it was around the time he’d got the evidence that Harry really had not been the one to sell him out to the Russians.

‘We’ll be fine,’ he said forcefully. ‘All we need to do is cross London. How hard can that be?’ Sarcasm was the way to deal with this. If he didn’t, panic might grip his throat and cripple him. There was a bomb still ticking away and there were far too many FSB officers who wanted to murder him before that bomb got the chance to do just that.

‘They’ll have people listening in,’ Harry said, nodding. ‘Keep comms to a minimum.’ His gaze shifted to the top of the buildings. ‘And watch the rooftops.’

Now it was his turn to nod. But he had no intention of having to watch up all the time. There were more ways to cross London on foot, less populated areas he remembered from before his imprisonment. He’d have to take the risk that those had not been meddled with in his lengthy absence. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got another route in mind.’ Merlin’s offer of transporting was sounding more tempting by the minute, but that would draw attention, wherever they went, and for the moment they had to assume that the FSB had every last spot of London under tight surveillance. Drawing attention was the last thing they should do.

Harry left. It wasn’t ideal and he could still get shot, especially if Harry was right and the rooftops were no longer being as empty as they should be. But he had a lot of years in the field, much experience to rely on. And he’d be safer than those who were trying to get to London Bridge. Sometimes there was no really good option, just the lesser of two evils.

‘This is dangerous,’ Mordred said. ‘We shouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves.’

Lucas saw Merlin tense. He himself was none too happy with where this seemed to be going. ‘They’ll be fine,’ he snapped. ‘Ros is a resourceful woman.’ _So is Connie, heaven help us all._ ‘And you might want to demonstrate a little more faith in your own king. He can handle himself.’ There were two likely reasons why Mordred wanted to be anywhere near Arthur: he wanted to protect his king, as any knight should, or he wanted to do him harm. With things being as they were, it would be wiser to assume the latter.

‘But they’re not safe!’ Mordred sounded as if he was in distress. ‘I should go to them, see if they’re all right. You two can draw them away from us. Merlin is really good at dodging guards. You won’t be caught.’

If he thought that was subtle, Lucas had bad news for him. If anything, Mordred’s behaviour just about confirmed everything he had been thinking. Before the Druid had any chance to react he had him pressed against the wall of the alley they were still in, his arm pressed against Mordred’s throat, thus cutting off most of the young man’s air supply. ‘Listen to me and listen carefully,’ he hissed. He remembered being on the receiving end of such a treatment, but at the moment the present crisis overrode his loathing of it. ‘You know that what happened in Moscow was not merely an accident, a fault a young knight in training might make. You know that I know. We both know that Arthur doesn’t know and that he will not believe that you are his enemy without irrefutable evidence.’ Which presented the two of them with a very big problem; they could not tell Arthur. He’d not believe them and that would cause strife in the group at a moment they could use it least. They were all too aware of it. Mordred knew it too and he was using it. At the moment he was at an advantage. ‘This is what is going to happen: you are going to be walking in front of us at all times and if you try something, you’ll be dead. I have a gun and Merlin has his magic. Neither of us will hesitate to use it should the need arise.’

Mordred was looking rather panicked. He was getting short of breath and stared at Lucas with wide eyes. It struck him then that the Druid had not once tried to deny what he was being accused of. That was not a very welcome realisation.

‘Do you understand me?’ he growled. Even if Mordred voiced his understanding, it would not resolve the situation. He could still try to harm them and there was a very good chance that they would be too late to do anything about it if it happened. But it was all about making believe Mordred that he could do as he had threatened.

The Druid nodded and Lucas let go of him. There was nothing else he could do at the moment. He started to realise that Merlin must be feeling this frustrated about his inability to do something on quite a regular basis. Arthur could be so blind when he felt the people he trusted were suspected. Sometimes it was a blessing – Lucas was not likely to forget the faith the king had demonstrated in him during Operation Camelot – but sometimes he wished it wasn’t so. Like today.

‘Then keep moving,’ he ordered.

Mordred could have blasted him off his feet the way Merlin had done the FSB, but for some reason he chose not to. Maybe he believed Lucas’s threats. He could only hope that was the case. And this course of action had one added bonus: Mordred would be acting as a human shield should someone shoot at them. It was a heartless way of thinking, but no more so than trying to kill two people in cold blood.

‘I don’t like it,’ Merlin muttered as he came walking next to the spook. ‘Can’t we send him away?’

‘There’s no telling what he will do then,’ Lucas explained, even though he privately agreed with Arthur’s self-appointed bodyguard. ‘Best keep him where we can keep an eye on him.’

It was not ideal, but it was all he could do.

 

***

 

Ros was sure they’d lost the eyeball the moment Lucas had been shooting at FSB officers to give them a chance to let them get away. It was a maze here. There were so many alleys and backstreets and they had their pick of which they chose. If they were clever and used a great number of them, chances were they might just outrun the FSB or at least confuse them so much that they had no idea where they were going. And the faster they lost the eyeball, the more chance they would stand of survival and of retrieving the Tiresias dossier.

‘We can’t leave them behind!’ Arthur protested. He was still leading Connie away from the shooting, but he was looking back over his shoulder wistfully. Being the knight that he was, he’d want to join the fighting. Unfortunately Ros also had the feeling that he’d also felt that it was his responsibility to make sure that every member of their company would make it out alive and that was something that was not within their power at all, no matter how much they may want it.

‘Yes, we can,’ she snapped at him. ‘Unless you want to make their actions all for nothing, then yes, you can.’ Those noble impulses of Arthur had been an enormous help in the past, but they were not of any use to her now. ‘Move it.’

Arthur had skidded to a halt when it dawned on him that she was serious, that she was not going back for her colleagues. ‘You’d do that?’ he demanded. ‘You’d leave them on their own with a kill squad at their heels? Are you truly that heartless that you would leave them to die?’

Ros didn’t think she’d made a conscious decision to act. If she did, she could not remember it. All she knew was that she had grabbed his collar and that she shoved him up against the nearest wall. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she growled at him. ‘Don’t you bloody well dare.’ Colleagues are okay. They truly were okay and she had failed too many of them. She had failed to find Zaf, instead getting side-tracked by Yalta, she had failed Lucas during Operation Camelot and yesterday she had failed to rescue Ben. The weight of her own failings pressed her down. The last thing she wanted was for Arthur to poke his finger at the sore spot. ‘You know nothing,’ she told him angrily, mostly angry for losing control of herself so badly.

Arthur fought his way to freedom. He was physically stronger than she was and had several years of training under his belt. ‘All I see is a woman who’s giving up on her friends without even trying to go back and rescue them!’ he spat.

‘Because it won’t do them any good!’ she threw back. ‘We have a mission. If we do not make it to London Bridge to retrieve that dossier, then thousands of people will die. Right now, we are the only ones standing between the people in this city and catastrophe.’ _Regnum defende._ It was her duty to protect the country first and only then look after her colleagues. It was in black and white in the job description. It was what she had signed up for. It didn’t mean that it didn’t pain her to leave them behind while she was making a run for it. There was, however, no need to tell Arthur how she felt about this.

She seemed to have gotten through to him at the very least. He still glared at her, but he nodded. Ros didn’t expect to hear him admit that he was wrong – Arthur Pendragon almost never did – but this was as good an admission as she was ever likely to get. ‘Fine.’

She let go of him. ‘They’ll be fine,’ she told him as she stepped back.

Arthur looked at her accusingly. ‘You can’t know that.’

And she couldn’t. ‘They have Merlin, for heaven’s sake,’ she retorted. ‘They’ll come.’ She wished she could be as certain as she sounded.

‘What if they don’t come?’ Connie demanded. There was a menacing sparkle in her eyes that left Ros with a sudden urge to be violent.

‘They’ll be there!’ Ros snapped. It was unprofessional of her, she knew, and even as she was speaking, she was thinking of a worst case scenario. Maybe she had been hanging around Arthur for too long though, now that she thought it the worst crime imaginable to give up on one’s friends before anything was certain. And she shouldn’t do that, not with everything that was going on. Her professional priorities getting mixed up was not a good thing at all and she’d better sort herself out or London would be blown off the map, uninhabitable for years to come. And that was leaving the political fallout out of her considerations. This disaster could not happen. _So, get yourself together, Myers_.

Connie was getting on her every nerve and she had a lingering suspicion that the woman knew it too. There was something about her that was, dare she say it, positively evil. This was a scheming woman underneath the kind granny type Section D had come to know. _More like the one and only Granny of Deception._ How had none of them ever seen it before?

But that was not the most urgent question on the Section Chief’s mind. Because it didn’t make any sense. None of this added up. Why would she have done what she did? Connie had always made a show out of hating Russians. Of course Ros knew better than most people how to put on a show, how to pretend. And Connie disliked America. It was something they had in common. But was that dislike strong enough to turn her towards the Russians in such a drastic manner? Personally she didn’t think so. Ros’s own hatred of the United States had been much stronger, because it had been personal for her, born of a longing for revenge. And even then she had not very willingly turned traitor. This had to be something else. But it still refused to make any sense. They had the facts and Connie had confessed to having spied for the Russians for thirty odd years. Ros knew why she had joined Yalta, but she couldn’t get the measure of Connie James.

Catherine Wheel Alley was abandoned when they came there. Ros had been checking for surveillance all the way and had made them track back and change direction the few times she thought there was any. By the time they’d reached the rendezvous spot, she was certain they were clean. No one was following them, not at the time, and any pursuer would be visible to them long before he could take the shot. That was not what worried her. It was the fact that none of the others were here.

Connie seemed to have read her mind. ‘Where are they?’ she demanded, as if somehow magically Ros had all the answers. That was where they got her mixed up with Merlin. He was the one who knew everything.

Connie was getting nervous. She paced the short and narrow alley as if the devil himself was at her heels. Given how Lucas had been treated by the FSB, that assessment of the situation was probably not too far off the mark.

The question vexed her all the same. ‘They’ll be here.’

‘We haven’t got time for this!’ Connie protested. Arthur’s nervous glancing around him told Ros that for just this once he agreed with her. Had he so little faith in Lucas and Merlin? It made Ros want to scream. Was she bloody well the only one who believed that Lucas still had whatever it took to do his job? Had Operation Camelot not been enough to convince the sorry lot of them?

‘They’ll be here,’ she repeated, making it sound as biting as she could to mask her own insecurity. She was worried too, but she’d rather die than let anyone see it.

Connie was leaning against a wall now, out of breath after her pacing. Ros herself was too restless to remain in one pose for longer than a second. Lucas was still out there and so, somewhere in London, was a nuclear suitcase bomb. Something told her that Tiresias would have gone live someday anyway, no matter what they did, but the bigger part of her blamed the woman she now had to keep alive, but who she would rather have strangled on the spot.

‘Why did you do it?’ she demanded, asking the first question that popped into her head. It also happened to be the question she had been asking herself since she had first heard Merlin tell her that Connie, and not Harry, was the mole.

‘Why do you think?’ Connie retorted, still playing those sodding games of hers.

 _I don’t bloody well know, do I?_ But she didn’t say that. ‘People usually turn traitor for fanaticism or reward.’ She gave the former intelligence analyst a onceover. ‘I can’t imagine either applies to you.’

True, Connie had made herself a deal, but that was to escape with her life. It was self-preservation. Anyone could have done what she did in the safe house. Ros could have done it. That thought she quickly banished though. It was the last thing she wanted to think about.

Fanaticism was ruled out as well. No true fanatic would betray their cause for a get-out-of-jail-free-card. They’d have died rather than to betray whatever it was that they were fighting for. Connie had turned as soon as she had the reassurance that there was still a way she could get out and make a life for herself somewhere else.

The former intelligence analyst confirmed the idea. ‘No, neither did.’

‘ _What_ then?’ she questioned.

Connie launched into an explanation of how the Soviets were humiliated and they all had to watch how America became a global hyper power. ‘But I am no friend of the Russians, Ros,’ she finished.

Ros wasn’t buying any of that and clearly, neither was Arthur. ‘It looked like that to me, Connie.’ Hatred sparked in his eyes. Ros found it did not suit him at all. ‘Your explanation does not make sense either. It’s just more excuses.’

‘She just hates America,’ Ros said sarcastically. It was too close for comfort. It was too familiar. Yes, she had done the same and even for similar reasons. It was why she understood Connie so well.

‘No, I just hate imbalance,’ Connie countered. ‘You and I both think the same, Ros, always have done,’ she added, the evil twinkle back in her eyes. ‘It’s why you hate me so much. It’s not because I’m a spy, but because you’re looking in a mirror.’

It was the verbal equivalent of being kicked in the guts. Ros was almost surprised she didn’t double over and gasp for air after the blow had been dealt. Because the truth, the horrifying truth, was that Connie was absolutely right. The elderly woman represented every stupid thing Ros had ever done, every single one of her actions that she had come to hate during her exile in Moscow. Connie had done almost the same thing Ros had done, even if she had worked for a different organisation.

Someone was growling. ‘She could not be any more different from you!’ Arthur snapped. ‘It’s all excuses and lies. Do you honestly think we are in any mood to listen to your attempts to justify what you did to your country, what you did to Lucas and Ben?’ The anger turned his voice harsh. For a moment, he did not even sound like Arthur Pendragon at all. He suddenly strangely reminded her of Lucas.

Connie merely snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur.’ The tone of voice could only be described as patronising. ‘You don’t know what I know.’ Truth again. If Arthur did know what Connie knew, he’d not be so anxious to be the knight in shining armour. Arthur hated betrayal, and Ros Myers had done her fair share of it. She had never murdered a colleague, but she had sold one out to save her own skin. She’d have to plead guilty on that one. She had done to Harry what Connie had done to Lucas, even if the outcome in both cases was vastly different. It was a treason of the same kind nevertheless.

Arthur clearly did not share her opinion. He settled for a death glare. ‘I don’t need to,’ he said. ‘I have seen what Ros is like and she is not anything like you, for which I am very grateful.’

Ros hated herself for feeling so touched at his words. It was something she wasn’t used to and Arthur Pendragon standing up for her, that was a novelty too. She was not quite sure what to make of it. There was no telling if he really meant what he said or if this was just something he said to spite Connie. She decided that she really didn’t want to know. Arthur knew she was guilty of treason. If there was one thing the King of Camelot hated with a passion, it was betrayal. No, she really did not want to know.

The other half of the company barged into the alley. Mordred was first, with a face like thunder, followed by Lucas and Merlin, both looking rather tense. Ros would even go as far as to say that Merlin was jumpy. Lucas was more in control, but his eyes gave him away. He looked as he had done after his return from Russia: haunted.

‘Did you lose the eyeball?’ she demanded.

She got a small nod. ‘But if we did, it won’t be for long. They’re everywhere.’

Ros nodded her understanding. She had suspected as much and it would account for his behaviour perfectly; they must have escaped a few close encounters with the FSB’s snipers, which was not a reassuring thought. At the same time it was a relief to see them here, in one piece.

At the same time she thought that, she realised that was not entirely true. ‘Where’s Harry?’

‘Gone back to the Grid,’ Lucas reported curtly. ‘He’ll be more use to us there.’ Ros heard what he didn’t say. Harry was too old and too weakened by his ordeal at the hands of Charles Grady to handle a race against time itself all across London with the FSB on their trail. There was even some concern there, that Ros understood only too well. She wanted him safe too.

She didn’t comment on it. ‘We need to move.’ Time was rapidly running out and somewhere in London was a bomb. That was something she was in no danger of forgetting. She looked at Lucas. ‘Tube station?’ It was the quickest way to get to London Bridge and if they got on the Tube before the FSB followed them in, they had no way of knowing where they’d gone. It was not an ideal option, but it was the lesser of the evils they were facing.

Lucas nodded. ‘I have a route in mind.’

If that was the case, Ros was happy to follow his lead. Lucas was good at this and he had motivations in spades to stay out of the way of the FSB to avoid getting reacquainted with their unique brand of hospitality.

‘They’ll be watching the station!’ Connie protested, almost shocked at the idea.

But Ros had no consideration for her whatsoever. She’d lost the right to that when she had betrayed them, sold Lucas out to the Russians and had murdered Ben in cold blood. If she were to die now, Ros would not lose a moment’s sleep over it. In fact, she was severely tempted to help Connie’s passing along. The only thing stopping her was the fact that they needed her. _For now_.

‘They’re watching everything!’ she snapped. It was something she was only far too aware of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Arthur makes a request of Merlin and everyone is running out of patience. Please review?


	17. Chapter 17

Arthur felt like a target that was set up at the shooting range in front of a bunch of knights with crossbows, all very intent on hitting aforementioned target. The worst thing was the fact that he could not see any of the men who wanted to shoot a hole in him, all of them hidden on rooftops or in buildings. All he could see were the people that surrounded him. The crowds were entirely unaware of what was going on around them. They were having phone conversations, were talking to friends or were casting anxious glances at their watches, wondering if they would still make their appointments in time. Arthur found he now envied them their ignorance. Nothing, he decided, nothing was worse than the anticipation. He knew there was a bomb out there, knew that bomb could kill him if they did not get to it in time, and somehow time seemed to fly by, leaving them less and less time to locate the device and disarm it. It didn’t help matters that the FSB still seemed very intent on killing all of them before the bomb got its chance. Both those things were making Arthur’s skin crawl. It resembled a magical attack too much; there was almost nothing one could do to defend oneself from either a bomb or a bullet once it was fired.

The streets were crowded, too crowded maybe even, but for once Arthur would not be heard complaining. Normally all these people packed in so little space was sufficient to make him a bit claustrophobic, but now they had crowd coverage. They would be less easily seen and even if they were, it would be rather difficult to take aim, or so Arthur imagined. It would be better for his own peace of mind if this was what he believed.

He fell into step with Lucas, who was the tallest of their group, so it was up to him to keep a watchful eye out for potential trouble. Arthur caught himself staring at the rooftops of the buildings as well. He tried to be subtle about it, so that he would not draw attention to himself, but he didn’t think he was very successful. It was difficult to remember being inconspicuous when he feared that any moment now a bullet might try to kill him.

‘All well?’ he asked.

Lucas concluded his own scrutiny of the surrounding buildings and gave him a curt nod in response. ‘We’re clear.’

He hardly finished that sentence when he seemed to be knocked forward by some invisible force. It was just a second and then he was back on his feet, walking as if nothing untoward had happened at all, as if he had only stumbled. This might have fooled someone without Arthur’s training into believing that Lucas had merely tripped, but Arthur was a knight of Camelot, one who had a passion for hunting, which required, as he had once told Merlin, speed, stealth and an agile mind. Lucas was not fooling him now and it had not escaped his notice that Lucas was holding a hand against his side. Like Morgana had done when she had been shot and she tried to stop the wound from bleeding.

The realisation crashed down on him like an avalanche. They were under attack and Lucas had been hit already. It was a reflex to reach for his sword on his hip, but he came out empty-handed. A sword was too easily noticeable in twenty-first century London. He only had the small dagger he could carry with him out of sight and that was not going to do him much good against the FSB. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t think his sword would be any use either. A crossbow would be better, but that, like the sword, would be too noticeable. Not for the first time since he had come to London he wished he knew that he had a gun and the knowledge how to handle one. Without that he was too easy a target.

Lucas had seen Arthur’s reaction and shook his head. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘We need to get to the station.’ It was the sensible thing to do, but at the same time it went against the grain to run and do nothing. It felt too much like letting their attackers get away with it and that was not something Arthur was in a habit of doing.

‘Are you all right?’ He wasn’t in the habit of visibly and audibly asking after his friends’ wellbeing – when he was in the mood to actually admit that he had them – but today was the exception and he found himself doing and saying things he would otherwise never dream of saying and doing.

‘It’s missed all the important bits,’ Lucas replied. ‘I’ll live.’

Arthur rewarded that answer with a disbelieving look. He had seen the effect of such a wound on Morgana. It had weakened her, slowed her down, even almost a week later. It had done considerable damage to her and she had been shot in the same place Lucas had. Morgana had one advantage Lucas lacked though; she’d had magic to draw some extra strength from.

‘It only grazed my side,’ Lucas insisted. ‘Keep moving, Arthur.’

He was not the king of Camelot here. In London he was only about the rank of a junior officer, although he had access to more information than most junior officers occasionally. For now Lucas outranked him and Arthur had to do as he said. And it was the best thing he could do as well, because really, Lucas knew his way around this city and this whole underground train system that still gave Arthur the creeps. Arthur had been on them exactly one time and it had left him with a desperate wish to see the sun again. Tunnels reminded him all too much of the variety that had Wildren crawling around here, there and everywhere.

He risked one last glance over his shoulder, but the FSB snipers he knew there to be, were not visible. The sooner they got into the station, the better it would be. Ros was still leading the way, having relieved Arthur of his task of manhandling Connie with her to ensure that treacherous cow, as Malcolm had referred to her in an angry whisper, did not go anywhere they didn’t want her to go. Mordred was keeping a close eye on them in order to not lose sight of them and get lost in the crowd and Merlin was glaring daggers at the Druid’s back. Had he still not ceased his bullying? When all this was over, they would need to talk.

Mordred did not belong here. He was out of his element, didn’t know what to do with himself. Arthur had hoped the situation would more or less have resolved itself after he had been able to make himself useful in Moscow, but that did not seem to be the case. The sooner he’d be back in Camelot, the better it would be.

The station itself was – how was it even possible? – even more crowded than the street outside. Lucas motioned for Arthur to come with him as he took the lead. Apart from the hand that was still pressed against his side, he seemed to be all right. Arthur wasn’t fooled though. He himself had been pressing on for longer than he should on several occasions. Lucas was the type to do the exact same thing and that was by no means wise to do. But turning back and finding a hospital was not an option and magic didn’t work on bullet wounds, Merlin had once explained.

‘Are we taking the train?’ he asked.

Lucas shook his head. ‘Too easily traceable. We don’t know who’s working for Tiresias. They could have a welcome committee out for us long before we get to our destination.’

This unfortunately made a bit too much sense. ‘Then why are we here?’ What else could they be doing in a station?

‘There are other ways.’ Lucas was clearly not planning on sharing any more of his plans and there was no choice for Arthur but to follow him to a blue door that looked very locked to him. It wasn’t just a lock that could be turned with the right key. It was the kind of door that needed to be opened with a number code. Arthur’s nose wrinkled in disgust; he remembered those things from when he had been locked into one of the basement holding cells in Thames House upon his first arrival.

‘It’s locked,’ he observed when Lucas tried the door.

‘Bravo, Sherlock,’ Ros commented sarcastically. Arthur didn’t know who Sherlock was, but for some reason he didn’t think it was an intelligent person, not from the way Ros said it.

‘Let me,’ Merlin offered. He moved to stand in front of the door, glanced over his shoulder to see if no one was watching and then held his hand against the obstacle. ‘ _Tospringe_.’

For a moment Arthur worried that magic wouldn’t work on electronic devices – it didn’t work on wounds caused by modern weapons after all – but then  the door opened and they could get through. He would not deny his relief as he ushered the others through and kept an eye out for what Lucas referred to as “company.” He saw no one he would suspect of being with the FSB, but then, he was not the expert.

‘Can you lock the door behind us?’ he asked Merlin when everyone was through. ‘Magically?’

Merlin merely rolled his eyes as he did an attempt at their usual form of banter. ‘I _am_ a warlock,’ he pointed out.

‘I know, _Mer_ lin.’ Arthur went with it. ‘Well, aren’t you going to do it?’

‘There really is no pleasing you sometimes,’ the self-proclaimed warlock remarked, muttering not quite under his breath, which meant that he wanted Arthur to hear him.

Arthur smiled in spite of himself and the situation as Merlin did as he was told. It was good to have a few lighter moments now everything looked so dark. Soon that might even be literal, seeing as the road ahead only seemed to lead down into deep tunnels. Part of him was glad that he was not in the possession of a watch. If he had, he would not be able to stop looking at it, to see how much time they had left. But even without a watch he knew that time was very rapidly running out. And if the bomb went off, everyone would be dead.

But that was not entirely true. ‘Merlin?’

‘Shut up?’ the servant guessed.

But this was no longer banter. ‘If it looks like we won’t make it in time…’ he began.

‘But we will be,’ Merlin interrupted, throwing in his endless optimism. It was a part of who he was, Arthur had come to learn. He always tried to be like this when they rode into a dangerous situation. Arthur vividly recalled that the servant had done the same thing when Morgana had unleashed the Dorocha on the world. Even when things were most bleak, Merlin tried to crack jokes. It was one of the traits Arthur appreciated most about his manservant. ‘We are going to get there in time, Arthur. And we will defuse that bomb.’

He wished he shared the optimism. ‘How can you be so sure?’ he demanded.

The warlock shrugged. ‘Because I have faith in you. I’ve always had faith in you, Arthur.’ He looked a bit uncomfortable when he confessed the rest. ‘And I have faith in Ros and Lucas as well.’

That was something he had not expected. Maybe the part about Ros should have been not as much of a surprise; they had worked together on occasion. It was the part about Lucas that took him off guard. There had been distrust between those two, almost right from the start. Something must have changed to make Merlin change his tune so much. Maybe what had happened in Moscow had something to do with it. But no matter what had happened, Arthur was glad of it.

‘If it looks like we won’t make it in time,’ he said again and this time slightly raised his voice to drown out Merlin’s immediate protest. ‘If it looks like we won’t make it in time, I want you to grab as many people as you can transport and take them with you to Camelot, as far away from London as you can. I don’t care who it is, and you won’t waste any of your time looking for me. You get out of there if I give the word.’

Merlin’s face was a study in unhappiness. Given the fact that he believed it to be his destiny to protect Arthur – the very idea of which still made Arthur’s skin crawl with uneasiness – he was bound not to take well to the order to abandon the man he was sworn to protect at all costs. He’d better get to terms with it soon. ‘I can’t abandon you!’

‘You can if I tell you to,’ Arthur said. It was not that he was anxious to die, but some things were worth dying for, a concept Merlin did not quite understand yet. He’d never quite imagined this would happen in the twenty-first century, but if it was a choice to lay down his life in order to literally save millions of people, then that was not a choice at all. And he didn’t have the power to magically whisk himself away at the last possible moment. But Merlin had that option and Arthur would have him take it, even if he was forced to make him choose self-preservation. ‘Merlin, that is an order.’ Harry’s favourite phrase was a gift from heaven. ‘I’ll tell Mordred the same thing. It is non-negotiable.’ Another one of Harry’s that suited his purpose well.

The unhappiness increased in tenfold, but Merlin nodded.

Now for the hardest part. ‘And I’ll leave it to you to look after Mordred.’ He started walking at a fast pace after the rest of the group now that the door was properly locked. It gave him a good excuse not to look at his servant. ‘I shouldn’t have taken him here. He doesn’t understand what is happening here. If I die today…’ He ignored Merlin’s noise of protest. It would seem Merlin had a harder time coming to terms with the idea than Arthur himself. ‘If that happens, you need to look after him. He admires you, I know, and he has nowhere and no one else to turn to.’ Exactly why Mordred admired Merlin so much was a mystery to the king of Camelot; Merlin had been downright rude to the young Druid from day one.

Merlin nodded again. ‘I’ll most certainly take care of him.’

There was something in those words that Arthur did not like the sound of, but now was not the time to argue. They had a bomb to defuse and they were running out of time. This assurance would have to make do for the time.

They caught up with the rest of the group on an abandoned platform. It looked like a station, but it had long since fallen into disrepair. Some of the benches had been carelessly thrown onto the ground, as were several other metal objects that were less easily identified. What were they doing here?

When he voiced that question, Lucas was the one who answered. ‘Disused service tunnel. London’s full of them. One of them will lead us directly to London Bridge.’

Ros, for once, seemed sceptic. ‘Have experience with that, have you?’

Her colleague nodded. ‘About ten years ago. Long story.’

‘We don’t have time for this.’ To Arthur’s surprise it was Connie who said this. It vexed him to find that he agreed with her. Surely something was wrong with that?

‘Let’s go,’ he merely said, not even looking in the woman’s direction. After all, they had a bomb to find.

 

***

 

Ros Myers was not claustrophobic. Having said that, she was not at all at ease in these tunnels. It was better than the streets, she supposed, where they stood out like targets on a shooting range. It could be considered a miracle that no one had been hurt worse this far. She cursed herself for not having noticed earlier that Lucas had been hit. Of course he had been trying to hide his injuries; he was too much like her in that respect: job first and everything else be damned. And while she would agree that the job did come first, especially with a potentially mushroom-shaped disaster – or the receiving end of a Russian gun variety, take your pick – looming over their heads, she’d rather he told her.

 _Don’t let him mess with your head, Myers_ , she reprimanded herself as she dragged Connie with her as fast as she could. She couldn’t care less about the other woman’s discomfort; she had lost any right for consideration when she had betrayed them to the Russians. That was something she didn’t allow herself to think about too much though, because thinking about that would automatically lead to wondering about what it was that she deserved and what she had rights to, after her involvement with Yalta. Harry had given her a second chance, one she knew she could not have reasonably expected. God knew she had believed she’d been left to rot when she was freezing in Russia.

 _You never murdered a colleague_ , she reminded herself. She had turned to help MI-5 before Juliet Shaw had come at her with a needle, and not just because she had no other choice. She had turned back to that bloody manor of her own free will. Connie was only doing this to save her own skin and get to her new life with her new identity in New Zealand. Ros had never expected anything of the kind. _Stop drawing comparisons and keep moving_. Stewing things over would not keep that portable nuclear device from blowing all of London to kingdom come. It was in her job description that she was not to let things like that happen if she could help it. And that she could.

Arthur had a similar sense of purpose. ‘I’ll handle her,’ he said to Ros. ‘You lead.’

Ros nodded. She’d much rather that Lucas did that, but he was covering their backs. As he was the only one with a gun and the danger was most likely coming from behind if – when –  it came, that was the most sensible thing to do. But it was in moments like these that she missed having a gun of her own. It would not go amiss in the given circumstances.

They all had to walk behind one another. Ros led the way, followed by Connie, who was pushed in the right direction by the Once and Future King. Mordred followed and Merlin and Lucas closed the column, both of them wearing similar expressions of wariness and general jumpiness. Merlin had rediscovered his scowl, the one he had worn when he had suspected Lucas of treason. But it wasn’t directed at Lucas, for a change. No, it seemed that he was trying to glare a hole in Mordred’s back and he kept up whispered conversation with Lucas that Ros, to her endless frustration, could not hear a single word of.

What the hell has happened that these two suddenly seem to have become best friends? Something was off about it. There was more to this than just bonding over a rescue mission in Moscow. Then it should have been Lucas who was being grateful and that was not what was happening here. As it was, he seemed to have adopted Merlin’s unease. Ros could not escape the feeling that for one reason or another, Mordred had something to do with it. He had seemed well-mannered enough so far and legend was usually nothing more than a load of nonsense in her experience, so she didn’t think he was really out to kill Arthur. As it was, the Druid seemed to all but worship the king of Camelot.

She kept an ear and eye out for trouble, but apart from Lucas’s occasional direction and the noise of a train passing through a tunnel far away from them, it was utterly silent. It was a good thing, she supposed, because it at least meant that the FSB was not in here with them. _Yet_. There was CCTV in the station and with the sleepers of the Tiresias network still unknown to them, who knows what the FSB knew. She supposed she should be grateful that the tunnels were not filled with cameras.

It was difficult to measure time in this place and Ros forbade herself from glancing at her watch too often, but she thought that they were making good time. She set a fast pace and Arthur forced Connie on, even when the woman’s breathing turned to panting. Like her, he could not care less about how she felt. If she wanted consideration, she should have thought about the consequences of her actions a little sooner.

Everything was going well, until they came upon the old train blocking their way. There was no way they would be able to squeeze themselves past, so there really was only one option: to go through it. Even if it was locked, Merlin would be able to deal with that, but that was not the problem. Ros simply disliked surprises.

‘Whose idea was this?’ she muttered angrily.

Lucas had heard her all the same. ‘I forget,’ he retorted sarcastically.

It made her smile in spite of herself. Humour might be just what they needed in this situation.

‘We should go deeper,’ Connie said, who’d clearly no intention whatsoever of doing what Ros had in mind. ‘If the bomb goes off…’

The Section Chief heard herself growl. If this didn’t tell her everything she needed to know about how the former intelligence analyst valued British lives, then this did. ‘You’d do that, would you?’ she snarled. ‘Dig yourself in like a rat and let other people die?’ Well, that was not in her job description and as long as she had a breath in her body, she would do whatever necessary to preserve lives. And her own was not exactly on the top of her list of priorities. It was with Connie, she realised, and Arthur’s words sprang to mind again. _She could not be more different from you._ From the way he had spoken, Ros could tell that he believed in that with all his heart. She had been touched about his knightly behaviour earlier, but now she was slowly, slowly mind, starting to realise that he may have a point. When it came to matters such as these, she was nothing like Connie. And the heavens be praised for that.

‘Like a mole,’ Connie retorted, baring her teeth in what with a lot of imagination might pass for a smile. Ros was not in the possession of much imagination today. She had more important things on her mind.

She turned away from Connie in disgust, utterly repulsed by the idea that she would let millions of people die only to save her own skin. It was completely and utterly disgusting. ‘And you say you’re no friend of the Russians,’ she commented wryly. For someone who made such claims, she was only too busy trying to prove the opposite and she did not have the patience for this.

They made it past the tube train with only the loss of her watch to a homeless beggar, who had found a new home in the abandoned train. The old woman, clearly half insane – if not entirely so – had been unwilling to let them pass without payment and Ros had offered her watch once she had recovered from the shock of encountering a living being where she had expected none. It would save her from watching at the time when she should be focussing on her job.

She let Arthur lead on when they came out. If she could listen to directions, so could he, and it had not escaped her notice that Lucas had been starting to fall behind. How bad was that wound exactly? She had asked when they were waiting for Arthur and Merlin to catch up, but he had told her that it had missed the important bits and that he’d be fine. She had not been able to get any other answers out of him and part of her had really not wanted to know. It would only make her worry – hang on, she didn’t do worry – and that was something she could not afford under the given circumstances. And he had seemed fine then. He didn’t seem fine now.

‘Let me look,’ she demanded.

Lucas grimaced and lifted his shirt, keeping moving all the while, obviously determined not to be the one to slow them down, but he winced in pain and with good reason; she could hardly see the wound because of all the blood.

‘What happened?’ she questioned.

‘It grazed my side, just outside the station,’ he reported curtly. ‘Ros, I am _fine_.’

It could have been something she’d have said herself. Who cared about a minor wound when there was still a bomb to be dealt with? It turned out that it was quite another thing to watch a colleague being hurt and push himself to the edge. For goodness sake, did that bloody man still think he had to prove himself? Didn’t he think he’d proven himself enough? They could go on without him if need be. Lucas too had limits and he was currently pushing himself too hard.

‘We’ll make London Bridge in time,’ she told him briskly. ‘We can afford five minutes rest.’ _Colleagues mess with your head_ , she thought, but there was nothing else for it. Lucas would be an asset to this task if he could go on, but in order to go on, he needed help first. It was as simple as that.

If Lucas knew, he didn’t comment on it. If that wasn’t testimony to in how much pain he was, Ros didn’t know what would be. Normally he was too much like her and would have pressed on even when she ordered him to look after himself. He simply dropped the backpack at his feet and pulled out the first aid kit.

Ros frowned at it. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘Stole it from a car boot,’ Lucas said. ‘With some help from Merlin. You could sue us for theft if you wanted.’

She would do no such thing; she was just glad someone had thought of it. With the FSB on their heels, this could be a necessity of life. There was no telling if the FSB were already here in with them, but it was for sure that they’d know by now that they hadn’t taken a train and had not left the station. The FSB would be looking.

‘Just hurry up,’ she told him curtly.

‘I’ll help,’ Merlin offered. When he saw Ros’s incredulous look. ‘Gaius has made me help him for years. I know what I’m doing.’

Ros thought it wiser not to mention the fact that medieval healing techniques had been outdated for about five centuries. She was not in a position to turn up her nose at help. Instead she opted on sending a murderous glance at Connie, who had taken the opportunity to sit down.

‘What happens if they wait for us when we surface at London Bridge?’ she asked.

‘Do they know we’re headed there?’ Arthur demanded, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Connie snorted. ‘Of course not. That dossier is my insurance. Why would I tell them about it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ros said. ‘They seem to know everything else.’ And how frightening that was. But she’d rather die than admit to that.

‘Do you think I want this to happen?’ the elderly woman snapped irritably. ‘A nuclear device in London?’

‘You were the one to say that we should go deeper and wait for London to be obliterated,’ Arthur remarked venomously. ‘You sold Lucas out to the Russians and murdered Ben in cold blood. I think it’s safe to say that none of us know right now what goes on inside your head.’ He took a deep breath to control himself. ‘And neither do I want to. In fact I am glad that I don’t know.’

‘I never wanted this!’ Connie protested. It sounded almost like a growl. ‘I am what I am, but I’ve done more for this country than you’ll ever know.’

‘I’m sure Ben would appreciate that,’ Ros sneered. Her patience for this woman, if she’d had any at all, was in immediate danger of running out. She certainly didn’t want to waste any of her time listening to her pathetic attempts at justifying what she had done. Ros could forgive much and had done so in the past, but there was one thing no one would ever get away with. If they touched her team, then it was over. There was no way back from that.

Arthur looked thoughtful. ‘Morgana used to do a lot of good too, you know,’ he told the former intelligence analyst. ‘Before she met Morgause and changed so much. She was one of the few who had the guts to stand up for what was right, no matter what my father said. She used to tell me to do the right thing. When my father made a mistake or was doing something that she thought of as wrong, she used to tell him too. She helped when we fought bandits that had raided Merlin’s village and she gave food to the people when there was a famine, even against my father’s explicit orders.’ For a moment he was silent. ‘Strangely enough, none of that seems to mean anything now. The only thing I think of when I think of her these days is of what she became, the legacy she left behind. It’s hard to see people’s merits when in the span of such a short time they’ve undone all the good they did before. I personally find it hard to see what good you may have done when you have been working for the Russians for thirty years. If there’s any good, it’s history.’ He turned away from her to inquire how things were going with Lucas.

Ros thought it a rather impressive speech from a king who seemed to get by on his good looks rather than his brain most of the time. Clearly Arthur Pendragon had done some growing up lately. In this situation it was something that was sorely needed too.

And it had Connie seething in anger. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Arthur rounded on her, eyes blazing. ‘But I do, don’t I? Because every single time it’s _me_ who’s on the receiving end of betrayal. Believe me, I know _exactly_ what I am talking about.’

Ros imagined that he did. She did not know him all that well, but he had known three betrayals that she knew of, two of them happening in the time she had known him. The only one who may have known more was Harry, but he had been in this job for ages.

‘At least in Camelot you can have the death penalty,’ she muttered. She’d pay good money to reinstate it for traitors in Britain, especially when they were like Connie, who didn’t even seem to regret her actions. ‘On your feet,’ she commanded. ‘We have a little more than half an hour before that bomb goes off. And I don’t have any reservations about repeating my treatment of Morgana on you.’ _It’s why you hate me so much. It’s not because I’m a spy, but because you’re looking in a mirror_. There were differences too, but being reminded of her own mistakes had left her edgy and angry and with no patience whatsoever for Connie’s well-being or continued existence.

She was about to forcefully haul Connie to her feet, but she was distracted by a gun shot. Her automatic response was to look around for the culprit, but then, normally a gunshot wasn’t followed by a burning pain in her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time there’s a bit of a fight. Please review?


	18. Chapter 18

If there was one thing Merlin would remember most about the gunshot later, then it was the look of almost surprise with which it was met by Ros Myers, despite the fact that the bullet had embedded itself in her shoulder. He’d never really seen her being surprised; she always was the very picture of calm, always in control of everything. Even if she wasn’t, she pretended to be. But there was no control now, not now her left hand grasped her right shoulder that had been pierced through by the bullet that had been fired.

That shook him awake. Someone must have fired that bullet and he swivelled around, only to find himself staring down a barrel himself. The man holding it was Mordred. He didn’t seem friendly now, he didn’t seem kind and he certainly didn’t seem to have their best interests at heart. All kindness had melted away like the mask it was and only an angry Druid remained, a Druid who did not only have magic, but who was currently in possession of all the weapons they had at their disposal as well. The gun was Lucas’s; he must have put it down when he was looking at his injury. Merlin had not really paid any attention to that until now, but he supposed that was what happened.

Maybe he should be panicking now that he was the one who found himself faced with the prospect of getting sent to meet his Maker a lot sooner than he had anticipated, but he felt strangely calm. Whichever way this turned out, Arthur would know Mordred for the traitor he was. And Mordred was the last great danger that threatened Arthur’s life, his very existence. That would be revealed now.

Still, he was only too aware of his own mortality. He had seen that from a bullet, he would not be able to defend himself in time. He’d seen it with Morgana. When Ros had fired the bullet that had ended her life, she had tried to throw up a magical shield, but she had been too late. And there was no way magic could heal bullet wounds. He’d tried and failed. But given how close that gun was to him, he’d be dead instantly, even if he’d had the power to heal his injuries. Unless some kind of miracle happened, he was a dead man walking. Mordred clearly knew how to use the weapon he was holding. How that was possible was something that was quite beyond Merlin, but he had more immediate problems to worry about right now.

A miracle did not happen, but Arthur spoke. ‘Mordred.’ It was only one word, but with it he managed to convey all the pain of betrayal, all his disappointment and all his hurt. In any other circumstance it would have broken his heart to see his closest friend – even if Arthur would rather die than admit to that – in such a position. And he’d have given anything not to let things come to this. But that was a luxury position and they were in no such position.

But it worked. For just a split second Mordred looked at Arthur. ‘I am sorry, Arthur,’ he said. It sounded genuine; he really seemed to mean what he said. But it was undermined by the gun that was still pointed at the warlock. ‘But you gave me no choice.’ Never had those words sounded more dangerous.

The distraction was enough; the miracle had happened. Lucas recognised an opportunity when he happened upon one. Even though he was injured, he practically launched himself at Mordred and knocked him off balance, wrenching the gun from his hands before Mordred had the chance to respond to the attack. The moment he had recovered enough to respond and blast Lucas away from him magically was not long in following though and Lucas crashed to the ground next to Ros. The gun however was firmly in his hands. It did not make Mordred any less dangerous, but it took away one of his advantages and the immediate threat he posed to Merlin’s life.

But guns would not be any use against Mordred, that he knew. Morgana had only been killed with one because she had been distracted and it was for sure that Mordred would not make the same mistake as she had done. Especially since it was still unclear why Mordred even acted as he did, he doubted he would have the appropriate revelation to make the Druid boy forget about the gun that Lucas seemed only too prepared to use. No, this would be up to him.

‘Now everyone knows you for who you really are.’ It was a more polite way of saying _I told them so_ , but it was also very true and in a way he felt triumphant. Mordred had revealed himself for who the traitor he was. If that didn’t serve to make Arthur aware of the danger, then he didn’t know what would.

Mordred seemed a bit taken aback by Lucas’s attack, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be off balance for long. There was genuine hatred in his eyes now, something that rather frightened Merlin. What on earth could make a person like this? How could anyone harbour such anger without dying of it? ‘You’ll die, Emrys.’ When he spoke there was no regret either. ‘Whether by my hands or when the bomb goes off. I do not care which it will be, as long as it is done.’

Dread settled in Merlin’s stomach. For just a moment the whole issue of the bomb had gone right out of his head. But it was firmly back in his mind now. Every minute they wasted here, was a minute less to find the bomb and defuse it. Mordred may not be working for the Russians, but he was helping their case along perfectly.

It was not even a conscious decision that made him launch the first spell; it was more instinct than defined thought. Ros was injured – he didn’t know how serious her injury was – the whole of London was at risk, they could have the FSB after them at any given time – although his magical blocking of the door would ensure that getting in here would be a time-consuming and difficult task – and time was rapidly running out, like sand slipping through his fingers. At the moment Mordred was standing between him and what he needed to do. This time he would not be too weak, this time he would do everything it took to make sure that all of them got out of this with their lives. No one else would do his dirty work for him now.

Mordred side-stepped Merlin’s attack at the last possible moment, but his attacker wasn’t given a lot of time to rejoice in this very minor victory. He’d underestimated Mordred’s magic and the strength of his attacks. Soon enough he needed all his own powers and all his concentration to do battle with the young man he knew to be Arthur’s bane. _Not while I live and breathe._

He was stronger. It was a relief to know that. He gave it his all and even though he could feel the sweat trickling down his brow, he was winning. And Mordred knew this too; Merlin could see it in his eyes, the realisation that he in turn had underestimated his foe as well. Merlin drove him back against the wall. He was not frightened anymore and this time he had every intention of doing what he should have done long ago: kill Mordred and eliminate the threat.

Mordred himself was panting as he looked the warlock in the eyes. ‘ _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget._ ’ The words were both spoken in his head and out loud.

He knew what would happen before it could, but he was too late to prevent it. Mordred shouted the spell even as Merlin threw another one at him. It would have been fatal, but by the time it hit the spot where Mordred had stood, the Druid was no longer there; he had transported away in the nick of time.

‘No!’ The cry of frustration and disappointment crossed his lips before he could stop himself. It wasn’t that he wanted to kill Mordred, but he most empathetically had not wanted for him to escape. Killing Mordred was a necessity, something that he should have done now that he had convinced himself that he could actually do it. Taking lives, or rather his inability to, was his weakness, if one could ever call such a thing a weakness. Sometimes it was just a necessary evil and something he very much regretted the need for. But given the history he had, he was not sure if he could bring himself to do it when he next came face to face with the Druid. _If I live long enough for there to be a second time…_

That brought him back to slightly more important matters, like Ros, who had collapsed against the wall of the tunnel, and the bomb that was still merrily ticking away till three pm. If he was right, they had less than an hour left to find the dreaded thing and defuse it. Cold sweat broke out at the very thought.

Lucas seemed unfazed after his short and involuntary flight. He only briefly winced as he got to his feet – and even that was so briefly that he might have missed it if only he had blinked – and ran over to Ros’s side. The Section Chief was grimacing as she pushed her left hand against the wound. Even in the very dim light in the tunnel he could see that it was bleeding and that Ros herself was paler than she should be. Not a groan of pain, some declaration of pain or discomfort, crossed her lips though. If anything, that growl that emerged from her throat was more one of anger and frustration than of pain. He was wondering if he should admire her for that. It was more than obvious that she was strong though, even if that was one of the few good qualities she possessed.

‘You all right, Ros?’ Lucas, like Merlin and Arthur, was not fooled by the show she put on. Worry was clearly audible in his voice.

Ros brushed it off. ‘I am your colleague,’ she reminded him. ‘They’re okay, remember?’ She didn’t want to talk about this for some reason and she seemed determined to ignore her own injury. Merlin would not put it beyond her to try and get up and go on until she bled out.

‘I am also your friend,’ Lucas pointed out. When it came to doing battle with words against the fearsome Ros Myers, he could boast some experience.

‘And you’re annoying me.’ She tried to get to her feet, using Lucas as a way to pull herself up. He let her, but he wasn’t happy about it. She looked at her hand, stained red with her own blood, and at the jacket, that was suffering from the same affliction. ‘Jackets are overrated anyway.’

Lucas’s facial expression told everyone with eyes that he did not think this an appropriate response. ‘You need medical attention.’

Ros glared, but it was less intense than usual, which spoke volumes about her condition. ‘Lucas…’

‘I am your friend,’ Lucas repeated. ‘That means I’m allowed to annoy you. That’s what friends are for, you said.’ Before Ros got the chance to reply or protest to that, he turned to Merlin. ‘Can you transport her to a hospital? Magically?’

He could and he said so. ‘But what about you?’ he added. If he was modelling his own conduct on Ros’s, that meant that the job came first. There were still millions of people in this city and all of them could die if they failed to deal with this crisis. If he were to leave, then he would rob their already small group of two officers. And, without boasting his own abilities, he knew they could very ill afford to lose him. He had magic, they had not. The FSB was still hunting them and there was no telling if Mordred came back. And Lucas was rapidly running out of bullets. Soon magic would be the only defence they had left. ‘The FSB, Mordred…’ He trailed off, not comfortable with voicing his reservations, lest he made it look like he didn’t care about Ros. True, he didn’t, not very much anyway, but she was not all bad. In fact, she was stronger than he’d ever given her credit for and he had been one of the few she had trusted yesterday. To repay that faith by not doing everything he could for her felt wrong. But then, would she herself not insist that the operation always took precedence?

‘A hospital won’t make any bloody difference when the bomb goes off,’ Ros snapped. She was holding on to the wall for support and was breathing heavily. ‘And you need his help.’ The last sentence came out with the utmost reluctance, but she made a valid point.

‘But there are medics in Thames House, aren’t there?’ Merlin suddenly felt foolish for not realising.

Ros glared. ‘That makes no difference. And we don’t have the time for this. Move on.’

She would have done if Lucas had not stopped. ‘You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be concerned about colleagues,’ he reminded her. ‘What’s different about Thames House, Merlin?’

Merlin supposed he had their new alliance to thank for his newfound tolerance and he used it. ‘I put shields on it before Harry and I left. Some of those are designed against physical damage.’ He shot the spook an apologetic look. ‘I’m not sure if they can hold out against that much force, but it’s a risk worth taking, isn’t it? I’d bring Ros to Thames House and then come straight back to you?’ He phrased it as a question to make it clear that he was asking for approval. He had no illusions about his status here; he was not allowed to make the decisions. Ultimate authority rested with Ros and there was every chance she would counteract it.

But for all her operation-first-and-to-hell-with-common-sense-attitude, she was not a stupid woman. She knew that she could not continue and in Thames House she could at least try to make herself useful. And if he stuck to the plan, then he would be back soon enough. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it might well be the best option they had. Now there was a frightening thought if ever he had heard one.

‘Don’t die,’ Ros told Lucas brusquely. ‘I find dealing with all the paperwork really boring.’

Lucas merely shot her a lopsided grin. ‘Nice to know you care, boss. Same to you.’

She shot him a mocking glance. ‘I don’t do dead,’ she informed him.

Merlin had the feeling that he was missing a few things here and there – banter between Ros and Lucas always seemed to be in some coded language he didn’t understand – but the genuinely seemed to like one another.

‘I’ll look after her,’ he promised Lucas. The spy had looked after Arthur when he could not, and now it was time to return the favour. He took Ros Myers’s hand and transported her away with him.

 

***

 

For the second time in just as many days, Arthur’s head was reeling with the shock of being betrayed by someone he had least expected it of. He still found himself staring at the point where Mordred had stood before he had disappeared. It had all gone so quick and now he found himself rooted to spot, as if he were in some kind of trance, unable to accept the knowledge his brain now tried to impart on him: Mordred was a traitor.

It was utterly absurd. It didn’t make sense, not to him. He would not pretend that all had gone well, but Mordred had seemed to understand this day and age a bit better. He had even been some use in Lucas’s rescue and just a few hours ago in snatching Connie from MI-5’s counter-intelligence. He had finally started to believe that taking Mordred with him had not been a bad idea after all.

And maybe that was the very reason he didn’t understand what was happening when Ros was shot and he turned around to find the Druid pointing Lucas’s gun at Merlin’s head. This could not be happening. It didn’t make any sense for this to happen, not with Mordred. He’d always been loyal, always been kind.

 _Merlin was right_. Strangely enough that was the first defined thought that filled his head. Merlin had guessed or known from the start that something about Mordred was not right, was a danger to others. Arthur of course had dismissed it, having seen no evil in Mordred himself. Instead he had put Merlin’s behaviour down to jealous bullying – something he now doubted Merlin was even capable of – and had allowed Mordred to become his friend.

He really should have known better than to trust his own judgement in these cases. When had it ever made him take a wise decision, especially in the personal department? He had been deceived by Connie, Morgana, Agravaine, Mordred… Even his own father had kept secrets from him. Who could he trust?

‘Mordred.’ It was all he could say; other words failed him entirely. _Why?_ He meant to ask that, but the question got stuck in his throat. What had he ever done to make Mordred hate him so much? His brain failed to produce an answer to that.

‘I am sorry, Arthur,’ the Druid said. He sounded so genuine. ‘But you gave me no choice.’

 _Why? How did I not give you any choice but to resort to this?_ He wanted to ask, but again, his voice failed him. And so he stood, frozen in place as Merlin did what he no doubt had wanted to do since Mordred had stepped foot inside Camelot. There was a fierce determination etched on his face. The magic he conjured up was impressive and powerful. Even Arthur could tell this. Mordred could not do anything that came close to matching it, even though he tried his hardest to do so, and he was driven back against the wall.

‘I shall never forgive this, Emrys.’ The words were practically growled at Merlin. ‘And I shall never forget.’ There was something that was chilling about these words, and a sense of foreboding too. To Arthur it sounded like a vow to take revenge for what was being done to him now. But he had no right to take revenge; he was the one who instigated this in the first place and for a reason that Arthur could not even begin to fathom.

And then it was over. Mordred disappeared. A small and very irrational part of him was glad; he hated killing, especially the killing of someone whom he had trusted with his life until the quarter of an hour ago. His brain still refused to believe that this was all it seemed, but he was the king of Camelot; he could not afford to not go with the evidence he was presented with. He’d have to go with the evidence. Doing anything else would be foolish.

And he could not overlook Ros’s injury. The Section Chief tried to belittle it, but no one was fooled for even a second. They all knew her approach to work.

Arthur was in danger of overlooking that there was a bomb out there, and in order not to forget it, he focussed on it with every fibre of his being. If only he could be enraged enough about Connie’s betrayal and its immediate consequences, then he might temporarily forget about the wrongs Mordred had done to him. If he didn’t do that, he was in immediate danger of becoming so absorbed in his own mind and own thoughts, that he would forget all about the far more imminent danger of the nuclear suitcase bomb that, without interference, would detonate within the hour. According to Lucas, London Bridge was not all that far anymore, but they needed to make it there first.

He felt uncomfortable about Merlin leaving, but he would admit that it was the best thing to be done. Ros could not go on and it would be cruel to leave her, especially when one took into consideration that the FSB could not be far behind anymore.

He hauled Connie to her feet. ‘Rest’s over,’ he announced. ‘Keep moving.’

The former intelligence analyst snorted. ‘I am not Mordred, Arthur,’ she reminded him. Somehow she had sensed that Arthur was indeed transferring his anger about Mordred onto her.

And it got right under his skin. Possibly that was what she had done to Ros as well, when she had accused Ros of being not so very unlike her at all. That was still the most ridiculous thing Arthur had heard in a long time, but knowing that she had a point, it set his teeth on edge. ‘No, but you and he are not so different. Both of you are traitors. Why should I treat you any differently?’ Maybe he was becoming a bitter man, Arthur didn’t know. Neither did he particularly care. Once he had sworn to himself never to allow bitterness access to his mind and soul, because he had seen what it had done to his father. Uther had died full of regrets and sorrow. Arthur had no intention of letting that happen to him. That however was before he knew what life could throw at him. Sometimes, he found, it was just too much.

‘Because I did not attack Ros and Merlin,’ Connie retorted.

‘No, you just sold Lucas out to the FSB and murdered Ben in cold blood,’ Arthur threw back. His anger was only simmering just beneath the surface and it was threatening to boil over at even the slightest provocation. A voice in the back of his head, that sounded remarkably like Ros, reminded him that this was neither the time nor the place, but he ignored it. ‘You may well be even worse.’

Now Connie was riled too. ‘Do you think I _wanted_ to kill Ben?’ she demanded. It did not escape Arthur’s notice that she refused to use the word murder in relation to Ben’s death.

‘If you didn’t, you would have found another way to silence him,’ Arthur growled. Good grief, betrayal hurt, like a cancer eating away at his soul. ‘You only meant to escape, or you wouldn’t have made it this easy for us to find him. You could have knocked him out. Instead you cut his throat like he was a pig meant for slaughter.’ Yes, the world these spooks lived in was a harsh one, and to a certain extent Arthur understood the need for it, but there were limits.

Connie had already opened her mouth to speak, but then the shot rang out somewhere in the tunnel behind them. It stopped them all dead in their tracks. There was no friendly presence in here with them and so that left only one option: FSB.

He turned to Lucas, who had paled until he looked like a corpse with bad colouring. For some reason Arthur didn’t think his wound had anything to do with it. Arthur found that his stomach was churning at the very thought of getting caught here by the Russians and he assumed it would be even worse for Lucas, who had endured eight solid years of torture at their hands.

‘Kill squad?’ he asked, even though Lucas clearly was not a sorcerer and could not tell for sure.

Lucas shook his head. ‘They must have sent in a runner,’ he replied, voice and muscles tense. ‘I would have done.’

‘One man?’ Arthur checked. ‘A scout?’ That they could deal with, even now that they were rapidly running out of bullets. Not for the first time he found himself desperately wishing for his own sword, which he knew how to use. They did still stand a chance.

He didn’t dare to think at whom that FSB had been shooting. It could not have been Merlin. It could well be that his servant had transported himself back to the tunnels, but he would have known better than to go back that far to save himself from any unfortunate run-ins with representatives of the Russian secret service. That only left one horrible possibility: the homeless woman that had been seeking her refuge in the abandoned train. She would hardly pose a threat to anyone, especially not to such men, so there would not have been a need to kill her. The fact that they had done exactly that told Arthur everything he needed to know about the kind of men they were dealing with.

‘We can handle one man,’ he forced himself to say, in the hopes that he could will it to be true if he only spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster.

Lucas, who had seemed to be in a state of shock before, now nodded. He looked around and then beckoned for Arthur and Connie to move again, until they had passed a certain point. Then he took the rucksack and took out something that looked like plastic rope. It was a thin rope and, in this light, barely visible at all.

‘We set a trap,’ Lucas explained. ‘Arthur, I need you to tie that to the wall.’ He handed one end of the rope to the king and pointed out at what height he wanted him to tie it up. Connie, a small woman, would be able to run under it if she ducked a little. For a full-grown man like Arthur and Lucas, it would be level with their throat.

Instinctively he recoiled from the plan, because he knew very well what it was that Lucas was planning. This rope was hardly visible when the light did not fall directly upon it; the Russian would run right into it and consequently have his throat cut. _The way Ben’s throat was cut_ , he thought, trying not to linger on that dismal thought. It was either him or them and Arthur planned on surviving. It may be harsh, but he was in a harsh world, going up against ruthless men. In order to survive, he needed to become a bit like the people from this world, even though he regretted the need to let go of his principles in order to survive.

But this was not the time to dwell on this and so he did as Lucas asked of him, forcing his conscience to be quiet. Didn’t he do what was needed in Camelot whenever the need arose? Had he not killed Agravaine when it was needed? Had he not killed in battle? Really, was this any different from a battle anyway? There was a war on, even if the people aboveground were not aware of this war at all.

Lucas tied the other end of the rope up tight and then ushered Connie and Arthur to hide in a small tunnel nearby. It was not lit at all, like the main tunnel was. Arthur dragged Connie with him and forced her to sit down out of sight, hoping that she would keep her mouth shut. She might say that she was no friend of the Russians, but Arthur was loath to take her word for it. Her actions so far belied her claims. She was an unpredictable woman and she might still want to take her chances with the FSB.

‘If you make as much as a whisper, I’ll cut your throat the way you cut Ben’s,’ he hissed in her ear. It frightened him a little that he meant what he said. He never thought he would talk to anyone in such a way; even to Agravaine he had been civil after he had discovered his betrayal. He had never resorted to such threats. This was not like him at all. But the worst thing was that he did not care about it. It felt like a part of him, an essential part of who he was, had died and he could not even mourn it, not yet.

Lucas hid next to him, between Arthur and Connie, which left Arthur closest to the main tunnel. He was as white as a sheet and had his hand pressed against his injured side, panting heavily. It was clear as daylight that he needed the medical attention as much as he claimed that Ros had needed it.

‘How are you holding up?’ he asked softly, shooting a worried glance at Lucas’s hand that was still shielding the injury from sight.

‘I’ll manage until three o’clock,’ he replied. Arthur didn’t hear what he didn’t say though. _After that it doesn’t matter anymore_. They would either be dead by then or they would have accomplished their mission and then Lucas could get some much-needed medical attention himself.

He gave a nod to acknowledge that fact and then focused on the things in the main tunnel. It didn’t take long before he heard footsteps. They were heavy footsteps, he observed, and they were fast approaching. It also was only a single pair, which meant that Lucas’s guess about it being only one runner, sent in ahead of the rest of the kill squad, was right. Lucas knew how these people thought and he knew how to survive. Not all that long ago he had survived a trip into his own personal hell in Russia. That made him the best person to be with right now.

The footsteps were cut short abruptly when the runner ran into the thin piece of rope. Arthur didn’t see what actually happened, because he had flattened himself against the tunnel wall. He’d rather not be seen and he was prepared to take drastic measures in order to ensure that he indeed stayed out of sight, lest he alarmed their suspect.

But he didn’t truly need to see what was happening. He heard all the more. It was the sound of someone choking, gasping for breath they didn’t get. Lucas’s plan had worked and Arthur was grateful for that. It meant one thing less to worry about.

Lucas didn’t waste time. He sprung up, groaning in pain as he did so, and ran into the tunnel. Arthur followed his example, dragging Connie with him again. Whatever happened, he would not take the risk that she would do a runner. That was something they could not afford right now. Enough had gone wrong today. One more disaster and it was for sure that they would be blown to smithereens along with the rest of London’s population.

What he saw however made his blood run cold instantly. Lucas was standing over the body of the Russian. In the dim light he couldn’t see if the FSB officer was bleeding or that he had just trouble breathing and he didn’t waste any time making sure; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

What he did see however was Lucas aiming his gun at the Russian and pulling the trigger. He didn’t even blink as he ended the man’s life, didn’t twitch as much as a muscle. All Arthur could see in the little light available was ice-cold determination. For the first time he saw why Merlin used to think of Lucas as creepy. But it frightened him even more that he himself understood perfectly why he acted as he did. He even, heaven forbid, approved.

A cold shiver went down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope Mordred was believable in this chapter. Next time: Merlin in Thames House.  
> Please review?


	19. Chapter 19

Merlin had contemplated transporting them straight into the lobby of Thames House, but eventually decided against it. All that would achieve was to shock the security there, who had no experience whatsoever with magic. They still knew Merlin as Matthew Elliot and to see him do something that was so clearly unnatural, that would result in panic. And so he transported them straight onto the Grid. That would shock a few people too, but a little less hopefully and it was not far from there to the First Aid post. It would have to make do for now. Nothing was ideal right now.

As it happened, he managed to land them right in front of the pods, causing a junior desk officer to shriek when she suddenly found them right in front of her. All of Section D was aware of who he was and what he could do, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t startle them when they were suddenly confronted with it right in front of them. Nicole Johnson was no exception to that rule.

‘Merlin!’ she exclaimed in shock. ‘Ros?’ Her gaze was almost immediately drawn to Ros, who was now leaning heavily on the warlock, but who seemed determined to remain on her own two feet in order to avoid any appearance of weakness. Merlin had a feeling she’d rather die than show any vulnerability at all. But that was a  façade she could no longer really keep up now. She may try to cover it up with flippancy and death glares to make everyone back off, but the pain and blood loss were making it ever harder on her to maintain that illusion. The warlock doubted if she could stand without assistance at the moment.

‘We need a doctor,’ Merlin told her. ‘And Harry.’ The Section Head needed to know what had happened to them in the tunnels and that Mordred was now likely to be as much of a threat as Tiresias, maybe an even bigger one should they manage to somehow survive the next hour. ‘Now, Nicole!’

Miss Johnson was a relatively young desk officer, but she had a brain on her and thank goodness that she was able to think straight in such situations. She called over a male colleague of hers, whose name always seemed to slip Merlin’s mind for some reason, to get a medic in here _right now_ while she went to fetch Harry, who could be seen talking to Malcolm in his office. It was good that someone took over some of the responsibility now, that it didn’t all depend on him.

But they weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long way. Lucas and Arthur were still in those service tunnels with Connie and the FSB hot on their heels, or that was what he had to assume anyway. The bomb was still there too, and they still didn’t know who was carrying it and where it would be detonated. Time was running out.

‘Come on, Ros,’ he told the Section Chief. He supported her as he escorted her to the nearest available chair he could find, never mind to whom it belonged. He would have carried her if he would have gotten away with it, but even in her weakened state, Ros would have vehemently objected to such a treatment. Anything not to be seen as weak.

Jo met him halfway, worry written all over her face. ‘Ros?’ she asked, before turning to Merlin. ‘What happened? The FSB?’

He almost wished that were true. If it had been the FSB, he could have lived with this. He could have put it down to the risks that went with the job. But this was more. And worse. ‘Mordred,’ he growled, feeling the full weight of his own failure pressing him down. He had known what Mordred was capable of, what he was prepared to do in order to kill Arthur. He had known all along and yet he had allowed Arthur to welcome him as if he was a long lost brother. He had stood by and watched as Arthur invited him to come to London with the two of them, keeping silent in order not to alienate the Once and Future King any further from him. He should have kept his foot down and refused to take him with him to Moscow and he certainly should never have let him anywhere near this operation. The very least he could have done was telling Ros what he had seen and what he had suspected. His alarm bells had gone off the moment Mordred made a case against transporting straight to London Bridge. He should have protested more, then none of this would ever have happened.

Jo frowned in confusion. ‘Mordred?’ She sounded incredulous. ‘But I thought…’

‘You thought wrong. It was him,’ Merlin said decisively. ‘He took Lucas’s gun and shot her when none of us were paying attention to him.’ And more fool them. Ros barely seemed conscious anymore and Merlin was glad that he could put her in the swivel chair. If only the doctor came quickly, she would be fine, he told himself. Not for the first time he cursed his own inability to heal gun wounds. If he could do that, they would not be in this situation now.

And it didn’t make any sense, it didn’t. There was no doubt that Mordred was an enemy, but he was supposed to be an enemy of Arthur’s only. How the spooks fit in this was a mystery. First Lucas had been a target and now Ros was. Mordred had targeted them first _before_ he had tried to make an attempt on Merlin’s life. And the very person he had feared for most had been completely spared thus far. Why Lucas and Ros?

‘Mordred?’ Jo’s sentiment was echoed by the head of Section D, who had clearly heard the last things Merlin had said.

Merlin nodded miserably, but was temporarily distracted when someone who had medical written all over him emerged from the pods. At least that meant that Ros would get the help she clearly needed. She was as white as a sheet and clearly not in any state to protest. The warlock dreaded to think what would have happened to her if she had remained with them in the tunnels. He had a feeling he didn’t really want to know. It was strangely unsettling to Ros Myers as anything other than composed and in control. He certainly had difficulty picturing her as weak and vulnerable.

‘Get out of my way,’ the doctor snapped and Merlin was only too happy to oblige. Besides, he needed to get back to the others as soon as he possibly could. Lucas and Arthur were still out on a limb, with a traitor in tow and a kill squad in pursuit. If Lucas ran out of bullets, they would be defenceless. Now there was a thought he dreaded. He didn’t even want to think about what might happen if Mordred returned, something that was not all that unlikely. After all, he had made it perfectly clear that he wanted all of them dead and whether he would be the one to dal the killing blow or he would let the bomb do the job, that didn’t matter to him. The best thing they could hope for was that Mordred would at least wait until after three pm, to see if he had caused enough delay for the bomb to do the dirty work for him, which was still a possibility.

It seemed that Harry was not going to let him leave without an explanation though. ‘My office,’ he commanded.

There was little choice but to follow. And even Merlin had to admit that there was some sense in this course of action. Harry needed to be aware of the danger, of _all_ the danger. It would do no one any favours if Mordred suddenly showed up here and was welcomed back as a friend, especially when he had made it clear that he was the farthest from a friend he could possibly be. He might well be the most dangerous foe Merlin had ever encountered, with Morgana being the only possible exception.

‘What happened?’ The question was hurled at him the moment the door closed behind them. And he was in a right foul mood as well. That at least was something that Merlin could understand; he himself was none too relaxed now that time was running out. 

‘Mordred.’ He felt the shame wash over him. He of all people should have known, should have kept a closer eye on both the gun and the Druid. But he had been too preoccupied watching the exchange between Arthur and Connie, had been too proud of Arthur in a way. The king finally seemed to see Morgana’s demise in the right perspective and Merlin admired him for that, even more so because Merlin knew from bitter experience just how hard it was. It had taken him weeks to stop himself feeling regret over what he had done, even though he had managed it eventually. He had been forced to realise that he had more pressing business when Ros was shot, though. ‘I’ve been suspecting him for a while, but I never had any proof,’ he explained. ‘Lucas and I were keeping an eye on him, but…’ Harry’s intense stare told him he was rambling.

‘What happened?’ Harry repeated.

This time he began at the start, still keeping it as brief as he possibly could. He mentioned his earliest meeting with Mordred, the prophecy that he would be the death of Arthur, his sudden reappearance in the woods a few weeks past, Arthur’s faith in him and his own doubts, only strengthened by what had happened in Moscow a few days ago. When he came at that part, Harry’s face started to resemble an over-boiled lobster.

‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ The tell-tale fist collided with the desk, making the two cups on it rattle with the force of it. ‘Both of you?’

In hindsight it was a foolish scheme not to tell Harry. As far as Merlin was aware, his faith in Lucas was absolute. They should have taken a leap of faith and trusted him, and Ros for that matter. With all that colleagues are okay talk that was between Lucas and her, she might have believed them. She was the only one who had fully trusted him during Operation Camelot as well. It was foolish and downright irresponsible not to do that. The consequences of that became only now apparent, when all of London might pay the price for their mistake.

‘We didn’t think you’d believe us when we only had circumstantial evidence.’ He found himself defending his actions all the same. Because his reasoning had been good. He just had never believed that things could go so very, very wrong. And he had never believed Ros to be a target. That Lucas was one was hard to understand, but Ros too? Why? ‘And because it doesn’t make any sense. Lucas and Ros are not supposed to be targets. And he’s been careful.’ He began to pace the office, which was altogether more something Lucas would do. He found that it worked to sort out his thoughts though. ‘What happened in Moscow could be explained differently very easily and he even had a point when he argued against transporting straight away to London Bridge.’ He took a deep breath. ‘He shot Ros when we weren’t paying attention to him.’ He let out the circumstances under which this had happened; Harry would only worry more when he found out that Lucas had been injured. ‘I fought him off and he’s disappeared. I don’t know where, but I need to go back before he returns.’ _And before the bomb goes off._

Harry had been listening with an ever deepening frown. ‘The FSB?’ he questioned.

Well, at least he could reassure him on that account. ‘We went down the tube service tunnels and I magically blocked the entrance,’ he reported. ‘Even if they know where we’ve gone to, they won’t have an easy time getting that door open.’ It was possible for non-magical people to accomplish it, but it wouldn’t be easy and that was good to know.

The Section Head clearly didn’t find it as reassuring as Merlin himself. ‘That’s it. I’m going to talk to the Russians.’

Merlin’s jaw was in immediate danger of dropping. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘They’re here in London with us, Merlin,’ he explained. ‘Their families live here. Do you think they would be hunting us so fervently if they knew they themselves are about to be obliterated along with the rest of the sorry lot of us?’

That was an angle Merlin had not thought about yet. He hadn’t had the time for that; all he could afford to see was the Russians as an immediate threat to their chances of survival. Why they were doing what they were doing had not been spared a moment’s thought until now. Now that he did think of it, it seemed a tad bit strange indeed.

‘But we’ll make it,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m going back now and the FSB don’t know where we are.’ He wasn’t sure for the full hundred percent, but he was sure enough. They could still do this. ‘And the Russians only want you dead.’ This he could say with certainty; the bullets fired in Harry’s direction outside Ottawa Brava had been a dead giveaway. ‘We can do this.’ He only wished he was as sure as he sounded. He wasn’t, but that was something Harry didn’t need to know. Ros had once said that there was precious little her boss wouldn’t do to do his job and protect his officer, and the truth of that became apparent now. But this was not necessary, not yet.

‘Merlin…’

He conjured up the most dazzling smile he was capable of. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he informed the spy. It always worked on Arthur in his most suspicious mood and he could only hope it worked on Harry; neither Lucas nor Ros would thank him if he had known that Harry was handing himself to the FSB on the silver platter and had done nothing about it. Right now he had a fragile truce with both, but he made himself no illusions. If he let such a thing happen, that truce would explode faster and more devastating that that bomb that was still out there somewhere. ‘And besides, this building is magically shielded. It might survive a bomb, so then Britain will still have some kind of leader, right?’

That was the argument that did the trick and he breathed a discreet sigh of relief. It was like trying to play Arthur, only more difficult; Harry was less easy to fool. But Merlin had years of experience with this and he knew Harry well enough to know that, like Ros and Lucas, his job came first. And the best thing about his reasoning was that it was his job to stay alive and find a way out of this crisis.

Harry did indeed give in. Well, that was one thing taken care of. Now he only needed to make sure that this bomb did not go off. He took a deep breath and transported himself back to the tunnels. If he had anything to say about it, neither the FSB nor Russia would have a victory today.

 

***

 

Lucas didn’t give the dead man as much as a second thought. He had been a threat to them and that was all that really mattered now. He didn’t find killing particularly easy, but it was in this case a pure necessity of life. He had once blamed Merlin for not being able to take a life, because sometimes mercy was more of a threat than committing what in the warlock’s eyes was an unforgivable crime.

It didn’t mean that he didn’t understand what Arthur’s shadow was objecting against and he felt a bit uneasy as he levelled his gun on the writhing Russian on the ground and pulled the trigger. The writhing stopped instantly. It had been a good shot; the runner was dead.

He kept his face blank as he turned back to his companions. Arthur was already hauling Connie back to her feet. The analyst was panting and clearly exhausted. ‘It’s no use,’ she said breathlessly, already forced on by Arthur.  ‘We’ll never make it.’

That was the best way to ensure that Arthur Pendragon lost his temper. ‘Stop whining like Merlin when he’s been told to muck out the stables,’ he snapped. ‘We’re not going any deeper, and you are going to keep moving, unless you want to take your chances with the rest of the kill squad.’

That was not a choice at all and Lucas was sure they all knew that. Connie certainly acted on it, as she began to move in the right direction. It didn’t mean an end to her protests though. ‘They’ll catch up anyway,’ she pointed out. ‘What use is that?’

‘It’s more honourable to have tried than to sit back and give up,’ Arthur snarled. Since he had returned to London, he had become more like the spooks themselves, but now he was a knight through and through, with all his principles. Ros didn’t believe principles had a place in this line of work and she had frequently snapped at people who were caught doing exactly that. Especially Merlin’s morals were sometimes difficult to practise in MI-5; one wasn’t always at liberty to let enemies live.

Arthur, he observed, was becoming an interesting mix of a spy and a knight, two things that were seemingly so very much at odds with one another, but that seemed to be going together almost without effort for Arthur Pendragon. He wasn’t afraid of what needed to be done, despite his own objections against some of the methods that were so very necessary in this line of work. He might be too naïve sometimes, certainly too naïve for his own good, but Lucas wouldn’t object to working with him more often.

It was better than Merlin, whom he was incapable of liking, even though they were allies now. He didn’t think that alliance would last beyond this operation, after which they could go back to doing what both of them wanted to do most: avoiding one another.

‘He’s right,’ Lucas said. ‘Let’s move.’ He pointedly avoided watching at his watch; even without it he knew they were rapidly running out of time. And he was slowing them down, he knew that too. Arthur was too chivalrous to say it and Connie was too busy gasping for air to comment on much else than the hopelessness of their task. Lucas was inclined to agree with that at least, although he would do it in the privacy of his own mind and not say so aloud. And the tunnels were making him uneasy. It didn’t exactly help that he still had vivid memories of what had happened when he had last ventured into a tunnel.

‘They’ll catch up,’ Connie pointed out breathlessly; Arthur was forcing her on again with a speed that he could maintain easily, but that was torture to the former intelligence analyst. Lucas was not even sure he could keep this up for any longer. He was losing blood and his side ached with every step he took. He was a bit lightheaded too, but he’d rather die than give up. If given the choice, he would rather be blown to kingdom come when the bomb went off than that he renewed his acquaintance with the FSB. Of course he’d rather not have to choose at all.

‘Keep wailing and stalling like this and they will,’ Arthur retorted. ‘Get a move on. Now.’ In the absence of Ros, the king of Camelot did a very good job of imitating her. He must have spent too much time around her yesterday.

With any luck Harry and Ros at least would be safe when catastrophe hit. Merlin had mentioned shields around Thames House and although he could not guarantee its effectiveness, they would stand a better chance that he did. It was a small consolation, but it was something.

 _Stop it, North!_ He stopped himself from sliding into sentimentality the next second. The battle was not yet lost and he shouldn’t be acting as if it were. They were still alive and still one step ahead of the FSB. As long as they weren’t caught and that bomb hadn’t gone off, they still had a chance, no matter how small. They could still do this. This was the pain talking, the pain and the memories from Russia. If he gave into them, he was as good as dead already. And he had gone through much worse.

His hand gripped the gun a bit tighter. He was running out of bullets fast, he knew. There weren’t that many left. But they were closer to their goal now. Maybe he wouldn’t need them for much longer. There was some relief in knowing that.

Still, even with his newfound determination he could not deny that his body was hindering him. He could not disregard the effect of the wound on his condition entirely, not even by sheer force of will. He was slowing them down.

‘Faster,’ he told Arthur.

The king of Camelot looked at him in shock. ‘You can’t,’ he hissed.

Lucas shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Move.’

Arthur increased his pace a bit, but wouldn’t get too far ahead. It was who he was, loyal to a fault. He’d not give up the people he considered friends, especially when there was every chance that aforementioned friends could fall into the hands of the people that were hunting them. Most of the times Arthur’s loyalty was a good thing, but now it compromised the operation.

He was prevented from snapping that at the king in true Ros Myers style by a noise in the tunnel behind them. A reflex born of too many years in prison made him swivel around, gun pointed at the source of the noise. If he was to go down, he’d go down fighting. And he’d take at least one or two FSB officers with him in his fall. Maybe that gave Arthur a chance to get to London Bridge in time after all.

‘Don’t shoot!’ someone shouted, half in panic.

‘Step into the light,’ Lucas commanded. It could be FSB, it could be Mordred who came back and he was not about to take chances. He could not afford to.

The other did as he was told, hands spread to show that he was unarmed and presumably to keep Lucas from putting a bullet in his brain. ‘It’s only me.’ Merlin looked a bit like a startled deer and just about as dangerous, although Lucas knew better by now than to underestimate him. He’d been an enormous help in Moscow and today as well, blasting the kill squad literally off their feet.

‘Merlin!’ Arthur exclaimed, relief colouring his voice.

‘I said I’d come back, didn’t I?’ Merlin sounded rather disappointed that his king clearly had not believed him.

‘You did,’ Lucas agreed. ‘Let’s move. They won’t be far behind.’ It was close to a miracle that they had not caught up yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

Merlin nodded. ‘What happened?’ Apparently Lucas didn’t have the monopoly on imitating Ros Myers. Merlin did a remarkably good job of it too.

He brought him up to speed as they ran. His side was throbbing and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was still bleeding, but he didn’t look down to check. No need to confirm what he already knew. And he wasn’t the only one who knew. Merlin looked at him as if he was already on his deathbed, which was a shameless exaggeration.

‘We’ll make it,’ the warlock said. He didn’t look as confident as his words sounded, but Lucas appreciated the effort. Being allies with Merlin was not as bad as he had expected it to be, but neither was he entirely at ease with it yet. Too much history.

The shouted Russian curse somewhere behind them belied his words.

‘They have found the body,’ Arthur said.

In these tunnels it was impossible to say where certain sounds came from with exact accuracy, but Lucas agreed. It was either that or one of them had run into his makeshift trap. Part of him it was hoping it was the latter; the less people there were chasing them, the easier it would be to deal with them.

‘They’re catching up.’ It was his own voice that said it, but the words seemed to come from afar and didn’t sound like him at all. Nevertheless it was the truth.

‘I can draw them off.’ To his surprise it was Merlin who spoke up. He looked serious, but he also clearly had a light bulb moment.

Fortunately it was Arthur who spoke the word. ‘You?’ The incredulity was obvious in his voice.

Merlin threw him an exasperated look. ‘I’ve experience in dodging guards,’ he said. ‘Of course you wouldn’t know; you never caught me.’ The answer was just this side of cheeky and Lucas imagined that it was more bravado than anything else, but it was the solution they needed.

‘Follow this tunnel, always straight ahead,’ he instructed. ‘Eventually you will come at an abandoned station. With any luck you will be able to get out there.’

‘How long ago since you last were there?’ Merlin asked warily.

They had agreed on honesty and that was what Lucas gave him. ‘Ten years.’

He couldn’t guarantee Merlin’s safety and part of him felt guilty about that. They were on the same side now. But if anyone could make it out, then it was the warlock. He would have the best chance. _Stop wallowing, North, and get a bloody move on_. The voice in his head sounded remarkably like Ros. Even though she was physically absent, she was still present in a way.

‘I’ll see you at London Bridge,’ Merlin said. For some reason it sounded like a promise.

Arthur seemed to have been struck dumb. ‘Don’t get yourself killed,’ he said brusquely. Even in situations like this, Arthur Pendragon and emotions did not go well together.

Merlin grinned that dazzling grin of his, that Lucas strongly suspected was just a mask, a way to reassure his king. ‘Why, would you cry?’ _Would you miss me?_

Arthur snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. I never cry.’ It might sound harsh, but to Lucas it sounded like _Yes, of course I would_.

Apparently Merlin read the same thing into it, because the smile widened. For some reason Lucas himself was reassured by it. It helped to have this banter, no matter how dire the circumstances.

But the lighter moment couldn’t last forever. The FSB were unlikely to slow down and even if they did, that bomb would still go off at three pm. They had less than an hour left, possibly less than half of that. And they had not even reached Connie’s information, never mind that they got their hands on the bloody bomb itself.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Good luck. I’ll look after him.’ It was more a thing a knight would do, he supposed, looking after one’s friend because they protected him. But that was the way Merlin and Arthur worked and they were as much a part of Section D now as he was. Had someone told him this a year ago, he’d declared them mad. But then, a year ago he had more pressing business on his mind. He might have thought that the Russians had finally managed to drive him insane.

Merlin only nodded and then he was off. Lucas dragged Arthur and Connie with him into another tunnel he remembered – he’d never been so grateful for his photographic memory before – and beckoned them to be quiet and to hide behind a pile of unidentified metal. If they made a run for it now, they would be visible if one FSB officer glanced to their left and then all this was for nothing. As much as he hated to delay as much as a second longer, he had no choice.

He was cold and his side hurt like hell, but he forced himself into stillness. Somewhere close he heard footsteps and some words. Most of those were inaudible, but the few words he did recognise were Russian. His heart beat faster in panic and fear – how Ros would scold him if she could see him now – and every instinct he had screamed at him to run. He ignored it, instead forcing himself to listen.

Only when he could not hear a sound anymore, did he nod at Arthur. ‘Let’s go.’ After all, no matter how small the chance, it was still a chance all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Merlin leads the FSB on a merry hunt. Please review?


	20. Chapter 20

It took Merlin all of a minute and a half before he realised that he had unknowingly lied to Harry. He had believed that the FSB didn’t know where they had gone and even if they had, they would not easily get past his magic. Not easily, but it was possible, especially since he hadn’t had long to make his defences. And he had mostly experience in defence against magical intruders. Non-magical intruders were another matter entirely and suddenly it seemed like a very foolish thing to neglect that. Especially now that Lucas told him they were in this tunnel with them.

Lucas looked pale, he observed. It may be the blood loss, but Merlin rather thought this had something to do with the current crisis, and more with the FSB than it had to do with the bomb. The Russians were a more immediate threat and Lucas had more than enough reason to be afraid of captivity. The Russian treatment was hardly something he’d want repeated and his experiences with Morgana might have increased his fear of the idea. It was something he could not relate to, but he could observe and that was what he had seen. And he himself could feel cold shivers go down his spine when he realised they were being chased again. For some reason it was infinitely more frightening than it had been on the streets of London. It had set his teeth on edge then as well, but at least there were alleys and streets aplenty there; more than enough ways to change route and escape should the need arise.

These tunnels were something else entirely. There were only so many options and sound carried in here. But the worst was the enclosed space, the feeling of being trapped and having nowhere to go. And if that wasn’t enough to make him jumpy, there was always the chance that Mordred returned to wreak merry havoc again. He had as good as sworn that he would see all of them dead: Lucas, Ros, Arthur and Merlin himself. Just the four of them. Those were his intended victims and whether he himself killed them or that the bomb did the dirty work for him – taking millions of civilian lives with it – he didn’t care.

He told himself that right now he had more important business on his mind than Mordred. He wasn’t here anymore and clearly hadn’t come barging in during the time that he had been away. What a mess. In such a situation it was hard to know what he should be more focused on: the FSB, Connie, the bomb or Mordred. Of course the first three were linked, but at the same time they were different things.

FSB, he decided eventually. Mordred wasn’t here, Arthur had Connie under control and the bomb would only really become important once they had access to the information Connie had stashed away at London Bridge. The FSB had the chance still to cut them off before they got to their destination, which decided him in the end.

‘I can draw them off.’ The offer was made before he had thought it through, but once he had done that, he didn’t regret it. Lucas was in no fit state to lead their opponents on a merry hunt – and he was the only one who knew the way to London Bridge besides – and Arthur was hauling Connie along with him. And if that wasn’t enough to convince him, then he knew that he was also the only one who was the best at self-defence. He may not be able to heal bullet wounds, but he could hold them off.

Arthur clearly didn’t share his optimism. ‘ _You_?’ That hurt a little. Surely Arthur knew what he could do by now? Had he so little faith in him, even though he had saved one of the king’s closest friends from almost certain death in Moscow only yesterday? He tried not to let it get to him, but it was hard. If he could, he would make time turn back on itself so that he could act differently during Operation Camelot, knowing what he knew now. That loss of trust was still present and sometimes he wondered what he could do more that he could prove to Arthur that he was not the kind of man he thought him to be.

‘I’m good at dodging guards,’ he pointed out. That was one of the few truthful things Mordred had ever said, no matter how ironic it was. ‘Of course you wouldn’t know; you never caught me.’ The banter sounded wooden and awkward, but he couldn’t help throwing it in all the same.

Lucas simply took him up on his offer and gave him directions. It felt wrong that the man he had wronged so horribly once was now the one who trusted him to pull this off where Arthur didn’t. It had nothing to do with him personally, though. It was just a part of Lucas’s job to put the operation before any personal matters.

‘How long ago since you last were there?’ he asked, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

‘Ten years,’ Lucas answered promptly. Brutal honesty. It reminded him of Ros.

There was no sure way out and the FSB could end his life with one well-aimed bullet, but he could still transport himself away, if it really came down to it, no matter how reluctant he was to show his magic to people, never mind his enemies. He couldn’t even say why he was so nervous about this – he had his magic after all – but he blamed these dark tunnels for his uncertainty; he told himself that Arthur’s scathing remark had nothing to do with it. ‘I’ll see you at London Bridge.’ Merlin was not entirely sure who he was trying to convince with that, probably Arthur, very likely himself.

‘Don’t get yourself killed.’ To his surprise it was Arthur again.

‘Why, would you cry?’ Merlin demanded. He tried not to sound bitter, to make it sound like their own unique kind of banter.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. I never cry,’ Arthur retorted.

Merlin could hardly keep the smile from his face. This was their kind of banter, not just Arthur at his best. He cared. It was difficult not to smile like a lunatic. But that was hardly the appropriate thing to do under the given circumstances. He had offered to lead the FSB along by the nose and that was what he had to do. Lucas was right after all; they were catching up.

The spook must have been thinking along the same lines. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, just as brusquely as Arthur had been. It didn’t escape anyone’s notice that he firmly ignored Connie. She herself seemed only too aware of it. ‘Good luck. I’ll look after him,’ he added to Merlin. The warlock could not explain why, but for some reason it felt like he was treated as he would treat a colleague.

Lucas ushered Arthur and Connie into a tunnel that would lead them straight to London Bridge, leaving Merlin to realise one of his biggest mistakes all day: he had no idea how to distract the Russians from exploring the tunnel his friends had just disappeared into. He briefly considered doing the same thing he had done to lure Caerleon’s soldiers into a trap, but dismissed it almost right away. Standing in the middle of the corridor, shouting ‘Oh, hello there!’ and then making a run for it would have distraction written all over it and the FSB may be many things – dangerous, lethal and hostile being among them – but stupid wasn’t on the list. He would have to come up with something non-magical and subtle. But since Arthur had never required subtle – sometimes Merlin wondered if he would recognise a hint when it danced naked in front of him with a neon sign over its head – he had never needed to think much on it.

But he’d have to come up with something clever and he’d have to think of something quickly, very quickly. It wouldn’t do to be caught here, pondering what to do. They’d believe something was wrong immediately. No, he needed to be away from here soon as possible and he needed to make that lot trail him instead of his companions.

In the end it was Lucas who gave him the idea. He had been dripping blood from his wound on the ground occasionally, before they had stopped and dressed it. That would have left a clear signs for the hunters to follow. Really, all he needed to do was to make the trail a bit longer. They already knew one of their number was wounded, to such an extent that he was dripping blood on the floor – he didn’t even want to know what they would make of the place where Mordred had shot Ros – so they would not be suspicious of more blood.

There was a sharp edge on his belt, he knew, and before he could think about it any longer, he brushed his hand forcefully past it. It was a burning feeling when the palm of his hand was grazed open, but it was nothing he could not easily remedy once he was done. And it did the job of making him bleed nicely enough; a few drips fell to the ground.

Merlin stepped in it, so it got underneath his shoes as well, making the trail all the more obvious for it.

He noticed just how far he was willing to go for his friends as he started to make his way to the abandoned station Lucas had mentioned. He was putting his own life at risk – now, that was nothing too new; he did it all the time for Arthur – but he usually didn’t intentionally harm himself to do it. In general it were his enemies that did the harming bit. If anything, it served to remind him just how involved he had become in this operation. And it wasn’t just for Arthur’s sake anymore. He was not entirely sure how that had even happened.

Lucas had told him to lead the FSB away from them, towards a long since deserted station that should have an exit that led back to the street, but there had been a hint of uncertainty in his voice when he said it. His knowledge dated back ten years ago, he had admitted, and much had changed since then. He could be walking into a trap.

No, normal people could be walking into a trap. But he was hardly normal. His mother had told him that since the moment he was old enough to understand her words. He could transport away when things began to look tricky. And by that time the FSB would be too far from London Bridge to get there before Lucas and Arthur got their hands on Connie’s insurance and with any luck, they might even defuse the bomb before all hell broke loose. In theory it was a brilliant plan. He could only hope it was just as brilliant when he tried putting it into action, because that was another matter entirely.

He left a trail of blood drops for his opponents to follow. Twice he had to re-cut his hand when the bleeding stopped and that did hurt. The flesh was already tender in the area where he cut himself, and re-opening the wound was somehow much more painful. The last time he had to stop himself from groaning aloud in pain. Arthur would call him a girl, but in his defence, he didn’t think Arthur had ever needed to cause himself any physical damage. He really didn’t have the right to speak.

Thus far he hadn’t heard or seen any sign of his pursuers. The seed of doubt told him that all his efforts were for nothing, that the FSB hadn’t fallen for his clever scheme and that they had long since caught up to and killed. _You would have heard the gun shots_ , he reminded himself, and that did indeed calm him down, if only for a short time. Besides, they were hardly going to announce themselves by marching through these tunnels like a bunch of clumsy elephants. They had moved quietly thus far. There was no reason why they should change that now.

Nevertheless, he slowed down once he reached the station itself, continuing on walking instead of running. The platform he moved over breathed desolation and disrepair. A bench was lying in the middle and Merlin had to climb over it, leaving a bloody handprint on it in the process. There could be no doubt that he had been here.

He was nearing the exit when he heard it: shouting voices. A feeling of triumph blossomed in his chest; they had taken the bait. Now he only needed to string them along as far as he could and then he had to get out of here, preferably straight to London Bridge. The station itself would be under surveillance, but he could transport himself into the tunnel near the entrance to the station itself, where no one would come.

There were shouts in what he presumed to be Russian, since he could not make anything of that strange language, several voices. Four, maybe five. That would account for all of the kill squad, since Lucas had killed one of them before his return. The relief grew; they had not split up, but had sent all their might after him.

It was the outcome he had been hoping for, but he could not deny that he was also growing rather nervous now. It was one thing to know that he had his magic to protect him, but it was quite another to remember that with a kill squad on his heels. He started running again.

But there wasn’t far to run. He took the stairs to the exit two at a time, only to find himself confronted with a very closed and very locked gate. He could blast it out, but that would probably spook his pursuers. If he was going to play this, he needed to play it well. He’d let them come as close as they could and then only would whisk himself away. This diversion was about buying time and that was what he would do.

‘Don’t come any closer!’ he shouted. His voice echoed down the stairs. ‘I am armed and I will shoot if you force me.’

The thought had risen that he could indeed kill them, but he had never been able to really do that when there had been no other options. There were other options now. Lucas might call him soft and he might even be right, but Merlin was reassured in knowing that he could do what needed doing if need be, but only then.

The footsteps on the stairs told him that his command had blatantly been ignored.

‘He’s trapped!’ a male voice shouted down to his comrades when he saw the closed gate. The fact that he had a gun in his hands didn’t do much for Merlin’s peace of mind.

‘I’m warning you,’ he said, his voice low now that there was no need for yelling; they could hear him perfectly. ‘Do not come any closer.’

The man laughed mockingly, confident in his own abilities and the fact that he outnumbered his intended prey five to one. ‘You are not even armed,’ he said in a heavily accented English.

He was raising his gun and Merlin rather took that as his cue not to linger here any longer, unless he had a serious death wish. ‘Is that what you think?’ he smirked. Knowing Morgana had given him enough lessons on how to do so most evilly. The FSB officer seemed a bit unsettled by it.

‘You have no gun,’ he pointed out.

‘I don’t need to,’ Merlin retorted. He cast the spell in his mind and saw the man instinctively do a step back when he saw the gold in Merlin’s eyes. ‘Pleasure to have met you all. Don’t bother to visit again.’

Several jaws dropped as Merlin transported himself away.

 

***

 

‘How long do we have?’ Arthur demanded as he forced Connie on in front of him. The pace was murdering for her, he’d imagine, but he had more pressing matters to think of than the welfare of Connie “Traitor” James. Lucas’s welfare was a bit more important. The spook was limping more than walking and he was deathly pale; Arthur had a lingering suspicion that he only kept going by sheer force of will and not much else. He’d ask about it, but that would not help anyone and Lucas himself might very well tell him to stop fussing and focus on what needed to be done instead.

Nevertheless it warred with Arthur’s own sense of responsibility, of caring for those he had under his command or in his custody. Lucas was not strictly speaking one of his men – if anything, it was the other way around – but that sense of responsibility was there all the same. And with Merlin out on a limb, his concern went to the only one he could bestow it on, not that he would ever admit to such a thing aloud of course.

Lucas glanced at his watch. ‘Twenty-five minutes,’ he replied curtly. ‘We’re almost there.’ At least that saved Arthur from having to ask the childish question of _are we there yet_. Heaven knew it had annoyed his father when he did that when he had to go somewhere with him as a young boy.

Arthur only nodded in acknowledgement. ‘You can open that locker?’ he demanded of Connie. Normally he would have asked of Merlin to do that magically, but his servant was currently unavailable.

Connie cackled. There really was no other word for the sound she was making, but it made Arthur want to throttle her with his bare hands. How had he ever been able to put his trust in this woman? ‘I am a traitor, Arthur,’ she said. ‘Not senile.’

‘That’s debatable,’ he snapped. ‘Treason is one of the stupidest things one can do, which speaks volumes about your intelligence.’

‘Leave the insults for your betters,’ the former intelligence analyst scoffed. ‘You’re making a mess of it.’

If anything, that made Arthur only want to hurt her more.

‘Leave it,’ Lucas said. ‘You’re only playing her game now.’

And so he was, and he cursed himself for a fool for taking the bait. It was almost as if Connie took pleasure in provoking him and maybe she did. She was rubbing their noses in all the crimes she had done, knowing that they could not harm a hair on her head, not with the deal they’d made. It was utterly frustrating and infuriating.

He wasn’t a vengeful person at all, but Connie was getting on his every nerve. In his opinion she didn’t have a right to have her freedom at all, and yet that was what she would get if they managed to survive this. The world wasn’t fair, he had known that for a long time, but this was taking unfairness a bit far. It felt more like injustice to him.

But if Lucas could ignore Connie’s taunts that must be getting right under his skin, then Arthur could surely do the same. After all, she had done worse to Lucas, the likes of which he couldn’t even imagine.

‘Move,’ he snapped at Connie, giving her a forceful shove in the right direction. He may have been told to be kind to women, but he had never been told to be nice to traitors.

‘I can’t go any faster,’ Connie protested. She was wheezing more than breathing.

‘Yes, you can,’ Lucas growled. ‘Unless you want to be reduced to radioactive bits within the hour, then yes, you can.’

Arthur wryly noted that he was the only one of their current company who was capable of walking without panting or groaning in pain. Lucas was obviously doing his best, but Arthur was no fool, despite popular belief. Not for the first time he wished he had his sword with him; as it was he was the only one in a fit enough state to fight should the FSB have a welcome committee out for them when they surfaced at London Bridge. Of course they could always use Connie as a human shield.

He was a bit surprised at the harshness of his own thoughts. This was not the kind of person he usually was, but maybe he had seen too much to remain entirely the same as he had been. He had seen too much betrayal.

Connie was slowing down again, but Arthur didn’t let her. ‘You can rest when you’re on the plane to New Zealand,’ he snapped at her. ‘Wherever that may be.’ It would be far away though; she wouldn’t want to be anywhere close to Britain after what she had done. ‘Jeopardise this operation and that deal’s off.’

Connie merely cackled at his threat. ‘You don’t have the authority to make such a decision,’ she reminded him. ‘It has always been one of your greatest faults, Arthur. You’re not the king here; your threats mean nothing.’ Like with the other things she had said, this too went right under his skin, because it was true and it was something he didn’t want to hear. But she had been doing this since the safe house, taunting all of them. For some reason she knew exactly what buttons to push to make people completely lose their temper, knowing there was nothing they could do to her, because they needed her. She was miles removed from the elderly woman who had shown him the ropes. The only rope he wanted to show her now, was the one he’d hang her with.

‘And you’d think Harry would countermand that?’ Lucas scoffed. ‘You only need to give him one excuse and he’ll have you shipped off to Nemworth, regardless of the deal he’s made with you.’

‘You know what happened to Bob Hogan,’ Arthur added. That should make her stop gloating as if she was the laughing winner.

‘Harry still doesn’t trust you, you know,’ Connie said, aiming her poisonous arrows at Lucas now. ‘He told me. You might still be a double agent.’

Lucas met the comment with an icy look. ‘You know what that feels like, not me. Move.’

Arthur increased the pace and that was what shut her up eventually. She needed all her strength to breathe and to put one foot in front of the other. That way he killed two birds with one stone: they would get to London Bridge in time and he didn’t have to listen to her any longer.

Sounds were seeping through to the tunnel and it didn’t sound like a pursuit. It wounded more like the sounds of people moving about, a lot of people going about their business in the station. They must be really close now and that was a relief. They had at least made it ahead of time, with about twenty minutes to spare. Now they only needed to get to the bomb itself before the thing exploded. And that would be no small task at all. The nerves twisted his stomach into tight knots.

‘Where?’ he demanded.

Connie pointed ahead to a wall with lockers. It was a very inconspicuous place. No one could have guessed that in one of them was lying highly classified information. That was the brilliancy of it: hiding in plain sight, in a public place. It sounded like something Merlin could have done.

‘Open it,’ Lucas demanded. He was taking something out of the rucksack. It was a small device that looked like a very small computer, but Arthur was still hopeless where twenty-first century technology was concerned and he had better things to think of. ‘That didn’t come from the car, did it?’

Lucas shook his head. ‘Ros gave it to me.’ He glared at Connie. ‘Get on with it.’

Connie clearly thought it better not to try his patience, or lack thereof, and handed Lucas a memory stick. That was one of the things Arthur _did_ recognise. It seemed remarkable small to contain so much intelligence, such important intelligence. In Camelot he’d have been expecting stacks of parchment and the prospect of needing days to wade through all the text. In that respect London was easier.

‘Password,’ Lucas demanded. He was leaning against the lockers as he entered it. It was a miracle that he was even still standing on his own two feet. Quite frankly it was ridiculous that Merlin was unable to heal his injuries, but he supposed that was because he had not yet invented a spell that could heal bullet wounds. It was a different kind of injury than the ones made by swords, arrows and spears.

Arthur looked over Lucas’s shoulder when the password was accepted, one hand still clasped tightly around Connie’s shoulder. A whole list appeared on the screen and left him gasping at the magnitude of the Tiresias operation. He had known it was big, but he hadn’t known how big. He certainly had not been expecting this. How had the FSB ever managed to recruit all those British spies?

All of them traitors, he realised with a shock. It made him go all cold inside. Good grief, would it ever end? And of course this wasn’t personal, but it was a shock all the same. All these people betrayed their country and for what? _People usually turn traitor for fanaticism or reward_ , Ros had said. Was that what had driven these people as well? Fanaticism, reward, both of those?

Lucas was already ahead of him, scanning the list. ‘It’s all here.’ He sounded in awe of Connie’s work and not even Arthur could deny that he was right to do so. _Unless she’s deceiving us again._ There was of course every chance of that. The woman was a traitor; could they trust in anything she did or said?

 _She can’t afford to lie to us now_ , he knew. _Not now_.

‘250025,’ Lucas said, which Arthur recognised as part of the code he had mentioned earlier as belonging to the Russian agent who would detonate the bomb that would obliterate him as well as millions of others. Suicide terrorist, was the correct word for such a person, and according to Ros, they were the most dangerous, since they didn’t care about their own lives; they were prepared to die for their cause after all.

‘Walter Crane,’ he read from the screen. For the first time their suspect had a name. ‘And he’s in Grosvenor Square.’ The name rang a few bells, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. ‘Why does that sound familiar?’

‘The American embassy,’ Lucas replied curtly. ‘It’s bloody brilliant of them too.’

At first he didn’t understand what exactly was brilliant about it, but then he thought about it again and he did understand. The Americans had come up with the idea of the missile defence shield that had angered the Russians in the first place. The English had made them kill their own people and had kept Sugarhorse out of their hands. They were killing two birds with one stone as well. Brilliant indeed, but also very, very dangerous.

‘Can we defuse it in time?’ That was the real question. If they failed to do that, then them finding all this information was entirely useless. Then they had made this race across London all for nothing.

Lucas was already digging up his mobile. ‘One way to find out,’ he said. ‘I’m calling bomb disposal.’

‘It won’t work,’ Connie said.

And Arthur had just about enough of her endless pessimism. His grip on her shoulder tightened. He was sure that would leave bruises, but he didn’t care. ‘If you have nothing productive to add, would you please keep your mouth well and truly shut?’

She returned his glare with interest. ‘That is not what I mean, Arthur. Even if bomb disposal is not infiltrated by Tiresias, even if they get there in time, they will be dealing with a Cold War weapon they have never seen before. They won’t know how to defuse it.’

Arthur did not know enough himself to say such a thing with complete certainty, but it made sense, especially the part about bomb disposal being possibly infiltrated. He had seen the list for himself, he knew how likely the prospect was. And if they were indeed under Tiresias command, then they wouldn’t defuse that bomb at all. London would still be razed to the ground.

‘You have someone better in mind?’ Lucas snapped. ‘One of your Russian friends, perhaps?’ He too didn’t trust her.

The glare shifted to him now. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘I know the kind of weapon and I am trained on bomb disposal. I can take it down here, minimalize radioactive fallout.’ She looked at them. ‘All I need is a working light, a tool kit and a bottle of gin.’

The offer was so unexpected that Arthur for a moment found himself lost for words, something Merlin would testify did not happen very often, if it ever happened at all. All day long she had been nagging them to go deeper, to save their own skin. She had never given off any signs that she wanted to go near the bomb and for some reason it set Arthur’s teeth on edge. Would she be sabotaging them at the very last second? But then, she wanted to live and if she helped the Russians now, she would be dead regardless. Maybe all this was, was just plain old self-preservation. Or maybe his threat about calling off the deal had hit home. The thing was that he just didn’t know.

And Lucas just didn’t care. He accepted Connie’s offer with a curt nod of the head that made it very clear that he just wanted to get the job done and didn’t stop to think about Connie’s motives. And they did not really have the time for that anyway. That bomb was still counting down to three pm and they were rapidly running out of time. ‘Good,’ he said.

Arthur frowned, having another problem to solve still. ‘How will we get the bomb here?’ he asked. He didn’t know how far away Grosvenor Square was, but he was fairly certain that it involved leaving the station and walking into the sight of one, possibly more, Russian snipers. That would not give this mission a very great chance of success, even with Connie’s offer.

Lucas frowned, but didn’t get the chance to answer. ‘You’re all right!’ a relieved voice said.

Arthur swivelled around to see his manservant exiting the tunnel. His hand was bleeding and he looked a bit breathless, but other than that he seemed perfectly all right. Of course, it was not yet three pm, so they’d have to see about his health after that, but for now it was a bit of good news they were in dire need of.

Lucas’s face had shed the frown. To Arthur’s surprise he even seemed to smile. ‘I know exactly how,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: how to take a bomb from a bomber. That won’t be until January though, since I’m taking a short holiday from updating most of my on-going stories. Don't worry, I'll be back.  
> Please review?


	21. Chapter 21

Not many would call Merlin a gift from heaven, but that was exactly what he was at that moment. Arthur had asked the question Lucas had been wondering about as well. How would they ever get the bomb here without involving others? After all, anyone could in all ignorance be taking orders from Tiresias, that would not involve defusing this bomb as soon as they possibly could.

But there were other ways, magical ways, and in that way Merlin could help out. It still felt strange to him to think of magic as a real possibility to solve a problem of national security. If someone had told him this a year before, he would have laughed hysterically at the very idea of magic existing, never mind using it. Much had changed since then, and the strangest thing was that it seemed to work, the normal aspects of his job with elements of magic worked in. It was one of the strangest things that had ever happened to him.

‘I know exactly how,’ he told Arthur. It was a feeling of triumph that took up residence in his chest. They were not yet beaten. There was still a chance of doing what they had to do.

Arthur had followed his stare to Merlin. The twinkle in his eyes told Lucas that the king knew what he was planning. He might even approve of it.

‘Me?’ Merlin did a step back. ‘What have I done?’

Lucas shook his head. ‘It’s not about something you have done, but about something you are going to do,’ he corrected. It seemed to do very little to put Merlin a bit more at ease. ‘The bomb’s in Grosvenor Square. We need you and your magic to get there and bring it back here.’

There was a silence that felt like it lasted several minutes, but in truth could not have been longer than ten seconds. All kinds of emotions crossed Merlin’s face. Lucas saw shock, refusal and one he recognised as Ros’s will-you-bloody-well-pull-yourself-together-and-get-on-with-it-look. It was this last one that won out in the end. ‘Of course?’ Because of the confusion it came out as a question.

It was still an improvement over how things had gone during Operation Camelot, when Merlin would have refused without hesitating, stating that this would reveal his magic to the world at large and that was far more important than doing something with that magic that would make a real difference, no matter what it was that was even asked of him. If anything, this went to show that the warlock had become involved, a lot more involved than Lucas had believed him to be. He put it down to their alliance.

Still, he didn’t know what they knew about the bomber and the offer Connie had made. No one seemed to trust her actions or her motives, but they didn’t have a lot of choice; the woman had made a valid point about the possibility of bomb disposal being infiltrated as well. And there was only one solution that he could think of that would be any use; to deal with the device themselves.

He gave Merlin a very quick summary of what had passed in his absence, to clear matters up. He owed him that now that they were indeed in an alliance, strange though that may be.

‘How do we know we can trust her?’ Merlin clearly shared the common opinion of not trusting Connie James farther than he could throw her. Lucas couldn’t blame him for that.

‘We don’t,’ he admitted brusquely. If there was an answer he hated, that had to be it, but it was also the truth. They were colleagues now, no need for secrets. Wryly he observed that was not entirely true though; there had been far too many secrets on the Grid lately for his taste. ‘We need to go.’

He thanked the heaven that Merlin didn’t protest. It was clear that he was on the verge of doing so, but he stopped himself at the last possible second for reasons Lucas couldn’t fathom. He was just glad of it.

‘You need to hold my hand,’ Merlin said. ‘And you might get a bit dizzy.’

‘I know.’ He had done this magical transporting before, twice before, and Merlin should remember that. Judging by the violent blush he had only recalled that now.

No more words passed. It clearly went without saying that Arthur would stay with Connie; his hand was clasped around her arm so tightly that it was sure to bruise, although Connie would need to be glad that it was her arm that was hurt and not her neck the king’s hands were clasped around. He just stopped long enough to give Arthur instruction to take Connie down, back into the tunnels. They had passed a work bench and some equipment shortly before they surfaced and that would have to do.

‘And the bottle of gin?’ Arthur asked.

‘We’ll manage without,’ he snapped. Gin was a luxury they could not afford and he would not dismiss the idea that Connie had only mentioned it in jest. ‘Take her back down, Arthur.’

Arthur didn’t usually take well to orders and Lucas was not often in the habit of giving them to others – that was Harry and Ros’s prerogative – but today had changed a lot of things and this was apparently one of them. Maybe once this crisis was over, everything would go back to normal. He found himself hoping for that. They needed it.

Merlin took his hand and transported them away. It was barely a second later that Lucas felt solid ground beneath his feet again. His stomach was still protesting the maltreatment, but the dizziness was becoming bearable. He imagined that if he only did this often enough, he might learn to do this without feeling disorientated all the time, but he had no ambition to make this a regular occurrence. Magical transport was something more for emergencies and this was one beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Merlin had chosen his spot well. They had arrived in between a few high bushes, and no one so far seemed to have noticed anything, too caught up in their own activities. There were some children running around, young couples strolling hand in hand and elderly people sitting on benches, discussing things as mundane as the weather and the latest celebrity gossip, completely unaware of the danger they were in. And really, wouldn’t that be best? Even if the bomb went off, they would die before they even realised what was happening to them, their last hours untainted by the shadow of fear that had been hanging above Lucas’s own head.

‘Do you know what he looks like?’ Merlin asked.

That was something he did know, at least, since the document had contained a small photograph and luckily not one that was thirty years out of date. Lucas would say that it was taken some years ago though, but it was better than nothing. ‘Elderly man,’ he said. ‘Possibly alone. And he will have a suitcase with him.’ He would have to, what with him carrying around a nuclear suitcase bomb.

They scanned the square, getting out of the bushes as inconspicuously as they could in the meantime. Some people did shoot them confused glances now, but Lucas pretended he didn’t see them. He was more concerned with their bomber and any possible Russian snipers. So far he hadn’t seen any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Being shot once a day was more than enough for his taste. Fortunately his jacket hid the wound and the blood from sight, but he was tall enough to stand out in a crowd and since this was so near the American embassy, it would be safe to say that the FSB had this place under very tight surveillance. The Cold War may be over, but that didn’t mean the US and Russia were suddenly the best of friends.

‘Is that him?’ Merlin pointed discreetly to a man in a business suit sitting across the lawn on a bench by his own. He was sipping water from a bottle he had taken from a rucksack that was standing next to him. He looked like the man in the picture, but it was the smallish suitcase underneath the bench that made him absolutely sure.

‘That’s him,’ he confirmed.

‘So, how do we get it?’ was the logical next question. In any other situation Lucas may have thought it amusing that the greatest warlock of all time, who had hated him for most of their acquaintance, was now looking to him for leadership. In a way it was as if the world had turned upside down without him noticing.

Smash and grab would have been Lucas’s option of choice, given that they were still very rapidly running out of time, but if there were snipers here – and he had no doubt that there were several – that would only serve to draw attention to them. That was the last thing they could use. No, they needed quick and inconspicuous.

‘I distract him, you take the suitcase and we meet back here,’ he decided. It was not the best option, but it was the only one they had time for. He could only hope and pray no bullet would take him down before the task was concluded.

‘Good,’ Merlin agreed. With a grin that was only this side of cheeky, he added: ‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stolen something. Remind me to tell you the story of how I stole one of Morgana’s dresses under Gwen and Arthur’s noses and got away with it when we have time.’ It was an attempt to lift the mood and one that was almost successful. Lucas was on the verge of asking what on earth he was talking about, but Merlin was already gone.

There was nothing else for it than to follow his example. His side was aching. It had started as a burning kind when he was first shot. Over time it had started to throb and demand ever more attention. There was little doubt that it was bleeding through the bandages now. It affected the way he was walking too. But he resisted the urge to keep his hands pressed against it, since that would give him away too easily. He forced himself to walk straight and keep his face blank – _You can do this; you’ve had much, much worse_ – and walk over to the man he knew to be Walter Crane.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’m ever so sorry to disturb you, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my way a bit. Could you perhaps point me in the direction of the nearest Tube station?’

The bomber put away his water bottle and looked up. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not from around here. I’m afraid I can’t help you.’ The tone of voice was polite enough, but Lucas could hear the hostility underneath. Crane wanted him to go. Wouldn’t want to be confronted with one of the people he was about to kill, Lucas wagered. Some terrorists could justify their cause to themselves as long as they could keep the people they were about to harm at arm’s length. Crane seemed to be such a person.

He could see Merlin approaching and inconspicuously take away the case. No one seemed to have noticed anything so far. ‘Are you sure?’ Lucas insisted. ‘You see, I’m already running late for an appointment and…’

‘Yes, man, I am sure. Now, if you’ll…’ He trailed off, swivelling his head around. He must have caught sight of Merlin from the corner of his eye. ‘Hey, you!’

Lucas was on him in a second, clasping his hand over the other man’s mouth before he could make as much as a sound. ‘Listen to me and listen carefully,’ he said softly. ‘I would stay very still and very silent if I were you.’

He pulled his hand away so that the bomber could breathe, an opportunity he took to talk right away. ‘Who do you think you are?’ he asked indignantly, eyes shooting back and forth between Lucas and Merlin, who was taking his precious bomb ever farther away from him.

‘I am an MI-5 officer,’ Lucas hissed. ‘And I know exactly what you are planning. And if you do not want a bullet embedded in your brain in the very near future, then you will let my colleague take away that bomb to be defused.’

‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ Crane showed clear signs of distress now. Distress there was, but fear as well. It was the kind of panic he had seen in enough suspects when he had caught them and they realised that their game was over, that they had lost and that there was nothing they could do to stop their own downfall from happening.

It was all Lucas could do not to grab the man by the collar and shake him to instil some sense in him. What drove people like this, people who betrayed their country for only God knows what reason, he would never understand, but it set his very teeth on edge. ‘I spent eight years of my life in Russian prison because I stayed loyal to my country,’ he growled, having lost his ability to speak normally. ‘You, on the other hand, betrayed it. Now, if the Russians do not kill you first for losing the bomb, my people will find you soon enough to ship you off to jail. And you, unlike me, will have deserved every minute of that hell. I’ll leave you to ponder about that for a while.’

He stood up and walked as slowly as he could back to the rendezvous point. Harry would give him a lecture for revealing so much personal information, but Lucas was beyond caring. He could hardly think further than his own anger and what would happen if they didn’t make it past three pm. He was determined to make it, but that wasn’t the same as actually making it and he knew it all too well. There still could be snipers in this square and that they hadn’t fired a shot thus far was no guarantee for them not doing it in the very near future.

‘Won’t he come after us?’ Merlin asked worriedly, shooting anxious glances in Crane’s general direction.

‘He won’t,’ Lucas said. He didn’t know how he could say that with such certainty, but he could. Something in the eyes had told him that the bomber was genuinely terrified. And he was the bomber, of that he had no doubt. It had not escaped Lucas’s notice that he had not tried to deny even once that everything Lucas accused him of was true.

‘Are you sure it is the bomb?’ Merlin still didn’t seem very convinced.

‘Yes.’ The picture may have been slightly outdated, but it had been recent enough.

‘Shouldn’t we open it?’ the warlock insisted. He glanced suspiciously at the briefcase in his hand, unconsciously holding it a bit away from him, as if that would save him when it exploded. Lucas knew for a fact that nothing would save either of them should this thing explode right here and now. If that happened, then both of them would be as dead as the proverbial doornail and there would only be radioactive little bits left of them, not enough by far to bury.

‘Leave it for Connie,’ he snapped. ‘God knows what will happen if we do open it.’ He was not in a hurry to find out. Neither was he very anxious to learn what would happen if the device was transported in a magical whirlwind, but that was a chance they’d have to take. The alterative was sit and wait for the thing to detonate on its own and take London with it. And that was not a choice at all. ‘Let’s go back.’ It was the only thing he could do.

 

***

 

Arthur tried and failed to keep breathing calmly as he saw Lucas carry the bomb into the disused and dusty service tunnel. He knew the contents of the briefcase were lethal, to such an extent that he could barely grasp the consequences of, but it seemed too small for something that would have such power should it go off. Surely there must be some kind of mistake here. This could not have such power at all. It simply was too _small_.

Lucas’s facial expression suggested otherwise. So, for that matter, did Connie’s. She had been absolutely unreadable when Arthur had forced her back into the tunnels, being none too gentle about doing so. He had felt that he was kept away from most of the riskier things that were going on. He just had to bring Connie underground and make sure that she didn’t try to make a run for it, while Merlin first drew off the FSB and now went with Lucas to get the bomb, risking being shot down by the FSB once again. It was the kind of care he found so smothering, but nothing he could say would change anything. There wasn’t any time for protests either, not with that bomb out there.

And so he manhandled Connie back downstairs, to the work bench Lucas had mentioned. He was forced to let go of the former intelligence analyst then, if only to clear the surface and pick up the tool kit and working light. To his surprise she had even helped him to do it.

‘I never wanted this, Arthur,’ she’d said. For a moment there Arthur was almost in danger of believing her, but he quickly put those feelings of sympathy away. He was not in any danger of forgetting her treason any time soon and the sight of Ben’s body lying in a pool of his own blood was not something that was easily forgotten either. She had done that and with it she had forfeited any chance of forgiveness. Some things were unforgiveable and this was one of those things.

‘You should have thought about that sooner,’ he said venomously. ‘Before you sold Lucas out, framed Harry and murdered Ben.’ He felt slightly uncomfortable with his own behaviour, but one of his first rules was that he never showed any unease about his own conduct to others. It was a fact well known that he never admitted to being wrong about anything and he wouldn’t start now.

‘You have a lot left to learn,’ she had said and that had been the end of the conversation. Instead they waited for what felt like an eternity. He lost track of time, had done that a while ago actually. Arthur wasn’t even sure he really wanted to know how little time there was left to them. It couldn’t be much; they had spent a lot of time in the tunnels, not in the last place because Mordred had interrupted and shot Ros. The Once and Future King almost wished she was here. There was no doubt that the Section Chief would have no trouble at all silencing the traitor.

Arthur had started pacing when time dragged on and there was no sign of either his servant or Lucas, never mind the bomb. He was all too aware that the FSB was still out there hunting and it was not all that imaginary that they had died without him knowing. If that was the case, then they would not be far behind; he doubted he’d be able to survive a bomb of such a kind.

It was a relief when Lucas came into view, balancing a smallish briefcase in his arms. The very thought that such a case could contain such a lethal bomb was laughable and for a moment he was tempted to do just that, just to let out some of the tension. But Lucas’s face was deadly serious and so was Merlin’s, who followed the spy into the tunnel. Lucas was limping now, clearly exhausted from all the running and the blood loss. It was almost a miracle he had not yet passed out.

‘Are you all right?’ Arthur asked. The question came out without his permission. Maybe the characteristic that he didn’t fuss about his friends, even less show it so openly, was changing as well, but a bomb had a remarkable way of changing one’s priorities. He couldn’t care. And really, why should it be a crime that he cared about his friends? They may be the last people he’d ever see on this earth.

Lucas nodded. ‘I’m fine.’ Arthur suspected he was lying through his teeth.

He stumbled on towards the table they had cleared. It was only then that Arthur noticed Connie, really noticed her, her attitude. Something about her had changed now. All day, ever since they had left the safe house and they had discovered that the FSB had been on to them all along, she had been moaning and complaining, urging them to get out of the range of the blast, by going deeper, by hiding like a mole. The look she now sent at the bomb was one of almost indifference. She was not visibly scared. Quite the contrary; she stepped forward and opened the case without batting an eye. One hand was already going through the tool kit.

Arthur meant to get as far away from the bomb as he could, even though he knew that it wouldn’t make any difference if that thing went off, but for a moment pure curiosity kept him grounded into place. He had never seen an actual bomb before and he wanted to know what all the fuss was about.

It didn’t look dangerous, not at first sight. It looked like just another piece of technology, with a lot of wires in several colours that he didn’t understand the use of. Nothing that even vaguely looked explosive. No, maybe it didn’t seem like something that could blow up and take an entire city with it, wiping it off the face of the earth, but there were numbers, red numbers. And they were counting. Down, not up.

It took him a little while to piece it together, but then a cold shiver went down his spine. Those red numbers were counting down to the explosion. When there was no time left, it would explode and they’d be dead. And they had all of three minutes to prevent that disaster from happening. All of a sudden he had a rather violent urge to empty the contents of his stomach on the floor.

At first he didn’t understand his own reaction to it. He controlled the impulse to vomit and leaned against the wall. He was a knight of Camelot. No one had ever accused him of cowardice. He was a fighter and he didn’t back away from a fight. He had never done so, not even once, sometimes even defying his father’s orders to do it.

But this was not an ordinary foe, not the kind he could stab a sword in and come out victorious. This was not a foe whose attack he could fend off with a shield. It was too much like a magical attack; no defence possible. Maybe Merlin could protect all of them from the attack, but he didn’t pin much hope on that; his servant was looking at the bomb as if it was a pack of hungry Wildren.

‘Can you do it?’ he demanded of Connie, the second question that left his mouth without his permission.

Connie had selected her tools, but looked up at him. Arthur would much rather have that she didn’t; best let her keep her eyes on her work. ‘You should leave,’ she said. She may not look tense, or afraid, but there was something in her voice that betrayed that she was not as calm as she would have them believe. She was just as scared as the rest of them. ‘You should all leave.’

‘Get on with it,’ Arthur simply barked at her. As much as he wanted to go, wanted to leave this horrible place behind forever, he didn’t want to risk it that she would still make a run for it. He needed to see her defuse that bomb before he would go anywhere. And Arthur Pendragon was not in the habit of letting his actions be guided by fear. Besides, he didn’t think Lucas could leave even if he wanted to; he had all but collapsed against the wall, face white as a sheet and one hand firmly pressed against his side. He didn’t need to be a physician to know what that meant. It didn’t mean well. Even Merlin shot worried glances at Lucas every now and then and Merlin did not even like Lucas.

Connie selected two wires and, without hesitation, cut both of them. Then she leaned back, as if she was finished now.

‘Is that it?’ It didn’t look very difficult at all. Even a child could have done it.

The former analyst was halfway through her nod when the bomb started to bleep and make all other kinds of noises. The relief on her face froze, making it seem like a mask, something that wasn’t real. And he may not be an expert of any kind on bombs and the defusing process, but he was no idiot, no matter what Merlin thought. This bomb was not yet defused and clearly Connie didn’t know what to do with the thing as well as she thought she did.

But the look of defeat on her face lasted all of two seconds and then she was back with the bomb, already trying another tactic as she started an explanation that was far beyond Arthur’s comprehension. It was one of the things he hated about twenty-first century London and Section D; there was still so much he didn’t know, so much he didn’t understand, simply because he had not grown up here. But even he understood the words failsafe and back-ups. It meant that whoever had created this bomb had made it very difficult to neutralise it, if not impossible.

‘Can you do it?’ he asked again, hoping for a positive answer.

‘Stop it from detonating?’ Connie asked without looking up from her work, whatever it was that she was doing. ‘No.’

‘No?’ he echoed. He’d like to believe that it was disbelief in his voice, but he suspected it was more like fear.

‘If I am successful, the bomb will no longer be nuclear,’ she clarified briskly, as if this was just another normal day and she was explaining something to him that he didn’t understand the first time, like she had done when he had come to London te first time, had done ever since. ‘It will however go up in my face.’

Because she said it so calmly, it took him a moment to realise what it was that she really said. Did she really just say that she was about to die? True, he had wished her gone, even dead, a lot in the past few hours, had threatened to deliver death to her himself, but this was different. Something about this made him rebel against the very notion of her dying. _This is not the way._

It was a part of the old Arthur resurfacing, a part of who he used to be before he stepped foot in Britain. He was even relieved he felt like that again; he had not been permanently changed by what he had seen here. ‘What did you say?’ He had heard her perfectly, but he could hardly believe that the woman who had been very adamant about not dying, was now signing her life away voluntary.

‘The bomb will kill whoever disarms it,’ she said. This time she did look up. ‘So you should leave.’ When she saw that no one was about to do as she said, she added: ‘It’s just another bomb. I am not afraid of bombs.’ She even bared her teeth in a grin towards the device. She laughed at the danger. What a change from how she had been just ten minutes ago!

Lucas was dragging himself up with a little help from Merlin. His face twisted in pain and he didn’t even bother to conceal it anymore. Not a good sign. ‘Why did you do it?’ When he spoke, though, his voice was steady.

Connie clearly knew exactly what he was referring to, even id Arthur didn’t know. ‘I had no choice,’ she answered. ‘I did what I had to, what was necessary.’ There seemed to be some double meaning in her words, a hidden message underneath the one that he could piece together, and that he didn’t have the skill to decipher. By now he had concluded that this was something to do with Lucas’s captivity in Russia and Connie’s part in his ordeal, and she was telling him that she had no choice. Arthur had heard it before and he had dismissed it as a cheap excuse. He started to doubt the truth of that now.

‘Arthur, come on.’ Merlin actually went as far as to tug his sleeve to drag him away, anxious to get him out. It was like it had always been. Merlin’s first priority had always been to get Arthur to safety and he _wanted_ to be safe, wanted to be away from the bomb, as far away as he could. He just knew that there were things in life than being safe. It was something he had learned from a rather young age. And something about this didn’t sit well with him.

He let Merlin drag him out of the corridor and into the next. There was sense in getting out and Connie had clearly been prepared to die. And she was a traitor, so she deserved death. He had ordered Agravaine to be executed when he had the proof of his treason. It was needed and he had done it, even though it pained him. Connie was no better than his uncle had been. Neither of them had shown any remorse for what they had done.

Still, something was different and it took him a little while to realise what exactly it was that was wrong with it. Because Agravaine would never do what Connie was doing now. Agravaine would have stood by when the kingdom burned, and would have rejoiced in it. Connie, even though she was a traitor, was fighting to save lives.

The realisation hit with the force of a rock avalanche. This was wrong. This was not how it was meant to be. Not all that long ago they had established that whatever she had done in the past was history, that what she had done didn’t matter anymore. He had compared her to Morgana, told her that the only thing he now remembered of her was the legacy she had left behind. It was only now that he realised that Connie would leave behind an entirely different legacy.

 _The past doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you do in the present_. In the present Connie was making sure that the citizens of London could go on leading their lives, sacrificing her own in the process.

‘This is wrong.’ He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but he did. And his feet were already acting on his words before he was even done speaking. This was who he was and he did the right thing. Whether or not that endangered his life didn’t matter. This was something that defined him, the person he was meant to be. He wasn’t the kind who threatened people and stood by as they died to save him.

And so he broke into a run, back into the tunnel he had just come from. He could hear Merlin scream his name, but he didn’t come after him. Maybe Lucas was holding him back. Arthur didn’t know and it didn’t matter. What mattered now was that he saved a life that was clearly worth saving.

Connie was already bracing herself against the impact of the bomb, hands grasping the table top, eyes closed. It took him half a second to realise there were less than twenty seconds on the counter. Time was up. He didn’t even know if he himself would be able to make it back to safety before it was too late, never mind that he took Connie with him. But he had made his decision now and he would not go back on it. It was not who he was.

He grabbed Connie at the shoulder and shoved her in the right direction. She had not anticipated this and so she stumbled more than walked the way he had pushed her, Arthur’s hand grasping her shoulder, as he had done all afternoon. Something about this was almost too familiar.

‘Arthur!’ Her eyes flew open. He could read surprise in them. ‘What are you…?’

‘Run!’ He growled more than he spoke.

Connie was opportunistic enough to recognise a chance when she came upon it and she didn’t ask any further questions. Maybe she had been a spy long enough to know how to deal with the unexpected. She just did as she was told. Arthur was glad of it, because time had all but run out. All he cared about was to get away from here as soon as he could. Everything else came later.

But there was no later. He had hardly taken three steps before he heard the almighty roar and then the blast knocked him clean off his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been a while, but I’m back; holiday’s over.   
> Next time: Merlin deals with the aftermath of the explosion. Please review?


	22. Chapter 22

Merlin struggled in vain against Lucas’s grasp, but the spy, even though he was injured, was still a lot stronger than the warlock. Apart from using magic there was not much he could do. It was clear that Lucas didn’t want him to do anything. He kept Merlin trapped between the wall and his body, effectively preventing him from running after Arthur.

He should have known it. He should have known how Arthur’s mind worked by now. It wasn’t like him to leave people behind to die, not when he thought that it was within his power to prevent it from happening. He recalled Arthur’s reluctance to run, but he had put it down to him not wanting to seem cowardly. He ought to have known better than that by now. He ought to have known better, but he hadn’t. All he had been thinking about was getting all three of them as far away from that bomb as he could.

Of course Arthur’s noble disposition had interfered with his plans. Initially he had wanted to transport them all away from the scene, back to Thames House, but Lucas had said that they just needed to get out of range to be saved the impacts of the blast. Without the nuclear element, it wasn’t all that powerful, and the spy had clearly wanted to stay, for whatever reason that was. Now it turned out that it was not Lucas who should have worried him.

‘This is wrong.’ Those three words did the job of alarming him, whereas Arthur’s earlier reluctance had not registered as much as a blip on his radar. Before he could do anything though, Arthur was already gone, disappeared behind the corner as he demonstrated the fruits of years of training by running as fast as he could, back in the direction from where they had come in the first place.

It was not all that hard to guess what Arthur’s game was. He meant to save Connie, probably because he felt she was making some noble sacrifice and she should be rewarded for her efforts on Britain’s behalf with her life. Merlin himself rather thought she had decided to die to escape the consequences of her actions. After all, she may have a deal, but that had not saved Bob Hogan either, and she would not have forgotten that.

‘Arthur!’ he yelled, hoping that the king would see sense, knowing that he wouldn’t. Not even a bomb would dissuade Arthur Pendragon once a plan had taken root in his mind. And so he would need to back his verbal plea up with actions. There was every chance that the king would hate him for this later, but someone needed to think about Arthur’s survival, even when Arthur himself did not spare it as much as a thought. ‘Come back!’

He had done half a step in the right direction when he was forcefully yanked back. ‘Stay here!’ Lucas snapped.

‘He’s going to die!’ Merlin protested. ‘He’s your friend as well, isn’t he?’ Wasn’t this the one person he had allied himself with in order to keep Arthur alive? It would now seem that, when it all came down to it, he was not all that reliable at all. The anger boiled up and over in a matter of a second. ‘I didn’t take you for a coward!’

Lucas’s face was carefully wiped blank, but his eyes betrayed him. There was that cold look in them, the one he used to think of as creepy. But it was more furious than creepy now. ‘If you go after him now, you’ll both die,’ he snapped. ‘Where is the sense in that?’

He was right. Part of Merlin’s brain knew that, even though he didn’t want to acknowledge it, not now, not with Arthur’s life on the line. If he made a run for it now, would he still be in time? If he used magic, could he still save Arthur’s life, even with the delay he had now? ‘You….’ _You don’t understand_ , he’d meant to say, but he found his words were muffled in the spy’s jacket as Lucas pushed him between the wall and himself. There was hardly room to breathe and nowhere to go, not unless he used magic and by now he was seriously contemplating doing just that. Desperate times asked for desperate measures and he was getting pretty desperate right now. Panic was settling in comfortably too.

But even if he had wanted to act, there was not a lot to do now. Time was up. The noise was deafening, just as deafening as he remembered it being when he had been caught up in the market bombing with Jo. He found it was every bit as frightening as he remembered it being, even more so now that Arthur was caught up in it.

‘ _Arthur_!’ The distress was so great that he unintentionally screamed the king’s name with both his mouth and his mind, the way he had done when he communicated with Mordred. Arthur could be dead now. He must be far too close to the explosion to make it out alive. There was no chance, no hope. And he only stood here, kept from running after Arthur by the man he had trusted to put Arthur’s wellbeing over his own. How wrong he had been.

In hindsight it was impossible to say how long it lasted. It felt like years, like centuries. Common sense had kicked in though. He knew he could not safely leave this place at the moment, even if Lucas would have let him. Even if he did hurry to Arthur’s side now, it would not be enough to save him. It was too late. And it was all Lucas’s fault.

Eventually it stopped. The noise died down. Merlin could hear debris falling and the smaller pieces of stone, blown to small bits by the sheer force of the bomb, raining down on the ground. The air was heavy and dusted. It made breathing a particular unpleasant experience. He coughed to expel the dust from his lungs and covered his mouth and nose with his neckerchief. It would not help much, but it would help some.

Lucas let go of him to do the same. He swayed on his feet and he had to grasp the wall for support. He, like Merlin, was breathing heavily too. But that was all the sound there was left; their breathing and the falling debris. There was no sound that suggested that there were two other people still with them in this tunnel.

That realisation turned his stomach to ice. ‘No!’ The panic took over his mind and this time he would not be dissuaded. Some may have shied away from the scene that he was sure would meet him if he went back into the tunnel, but Merlin was not one of those. Maybe it was some sort of self-torture, going back to see his failure, but he needed it. And there was nothing else he could do now that made any sense to him anyway.

And so he pushed Lucas aside, ignoring the man’s cry of pain as he in turn made physical contact with the wall, and rushed back into the tunnel. The dust was settling, but slowly and at first it was hard to make anything out. The first thing he noticed though was the work bench, or rather, the spot where the work bench had stood only a few minutes previous. Nothing was left of it now. It had been completely destroyed and so had the bomb itself. It had blown up and destroyed itself.

But he could not care less about the bomb. Clearly Connie had spoken the truth when she said it was no longer nuclear, seeing as they were still here and London was still carrying on as it always had done, completely unaware of the disaster that had just played out underground. And neither would they ever know; it was the nature of this work.

Merlin could feel his hands clench into fists, so tight that his nails dug into his flesh. He was vaguely aware that he reopened the wound he had made to leave a blood trail for the FSB. Normally it would have had him groan in pain, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the heartbreak. Because Arthur was nowhere in sight. Neither, for that matter, was Connie, but she was not important. Arthur was, but, so like the work bench, he was just not there anymore. He had failed, failed in his task to keep Arthur alive.

All of a sudden, he found it hard to breathe. His chest was tight; he just couldn’t seem to make room for the air he needed to keep on living. The weight of his failure laid too heavily on it. Nevertheless a cry found its way to his lips and he let it out, giving voice to the many emotions he found hard to convey in any other way.

All his work, all his devotion, all his efforts had come to nothing. Just when he thought he was getting closer towards the destiny he had been given, Arthur’s life was cut short and everything he had been meaning to achieve became utterly meaningless. What had he done it for? It was not meant to be like this! Arthur was the king who would bring back magic and who would unite Albion. He had done neither. What then had he made all those efforts for if it now came to nothing?

Lucas stumbled into the tunnel after him, still holding on to the wall for support. ‘Merlin!’ he called. ‘Over here!’

Merlin swivelled around to look at what it was that the spy was pointing at. At first there was nothing he could see; the dust was still settling and it was difficult to see anything much anyway. He was still coughing frequently to expel the dust he accidentally breathed in from his lungs.

But it seemed important to focus somehow and that was what he did. It took him a while before he could see what Lucas meant. There were shapes on the floor, shapes he all too quickly recognised. Both Arthur and Connie were lying face down on the ground. Arthur appeared to have thrown himself over the former analyst, shielding her from the blast. It was exactly what Arthur would do. It was his way to protect others and he had gotten it into his head that Connie was someone that was worth saving. It was hardly difficult to work that out. Had she gotten him killed?

The anxiety took over again, forcing him into a run and dragging Arthur off Connie, turning him onto his back, so that he could see what the damage was. _Dead, dead, dead_. His brain repeated the words like a mantra. And Arthur was pale, deathly pale. It was in a rather sharp contrast to the bleeding wound on his temple, where some flying debris must have hurt him in some way.

Bleeding. It was still bleeding. Arthur’s heart was still beating. Merlin didn’t know which realisation dawned sooner, but they may have done so simultaneously. The relief washed over him in waves. He hadn’t failed. Arthur still lived. Whether or not Connie had made it out alive, that was something he could not care less about. She had endangered Arthur’s life in the first place, maybe even deliberately making him go back by choosing her words and actions carefully. She knew Arthur reasonably well and he had always been a predictable prat of a king.

With an instinct born of years of looking after Arthur, he healed the wound and the few other wounds he had detected on the king’s back and arms, where he must have been hit as well. It made him feel a little less useless than he had been feeling for most of the day. Incapable of healing both Ros and Lucas, he had been forced to bring Ros back to Thames House, robbing the team of a much-needed and capable officer, and to watch as Lucas struggled on, unable to do anything other than Gaius would have done. At least the damage done to Arthur was something he could do something about.

He was coming round, too, blinking and coughing. ‘Merlin?’

Merlin did all he could do: he shot his king a dazzling smile. Now was admittedly not the time to launch into a rant about how irresponsible he had been. Anger at Lucas and Arthur’s own recklessness took a backseat. Only now was it slowly starting to dawn on him that they had done it. He was still in this tunnel, which meant that the rest of London must still be there as well. Just this once Connie apparently had not lied. A nuclear bomb would have obliterated London, and them with it. The war wasn’t over – the FSB was still out there somewhere and so, heaven help them all, was Mordred – but they had at least won a battle, and for now that had to be enough.

‘And here I was thinking things had gone unusually smooth,’ the king commented.

It was a weakened form of their banter, and maybe even an insult in disguise, but the only thing it did was to make Merlin smile even wider. If Arthur was well enough to fire insults at him, then nothing much could be really wrong with him. It didn’t make him like his actions any better, but it made him rethink his opinion about Lucas. Wasn’t it so that the spy had just more confidence in Arthur than he’d had? The thing was that he could no longer be certain. Lucas was leaning against the wall, hand once again firmly pressed against the wound, still pale, but he managed something that with a little imagination could have been intended as a smile.

‘If that’s the case, I wonder what needs to happen before you judge it to be bad,’ Merlin retorted.

He was realising that he was currently the only one not wounded in some way. True, he’d healed Arthur, but the king was still looking a bit cross-eyed. Lucas needed medical attention as well and Connie was still out cold, which was the way Merlin currently liked her best. For once he was glad it wasn’t up to him to decide what would happen to her now. He’d leave that to Harry. Chances even were that the Section Head would be the one to give Arthur a tongue-lashing for reckless behaviour. It would save Merlin the trouble, and Arthur was more likely to listen to Harry anyway.

‘We should go back to Thames House,’ he said. ‘Get some medical attention for everyone.’ He could probably heal Connie himself, but that would take time, and Lucas looked dead on his feet as it was. ‘And then we can get someone to look at this mess.’ He had a lingering suspicion that someone needed to do that, and preferably before the FSB worked out where they had gone to.

Lucas nodded, having wrapped up a conversation on the phone while Merlin was checking Arthur over, presumably to either Harry or Ros. ‘Bomb disposal is on their way. Let’s get out of here.’

‘What about Connie?’ Arthur demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Merlin knew that look. It was the particular look unique to Arthur when he had gotten it into his head to be the knight in shining armour, in short, the version of him that could be most annoying. Merlin didn’t think himself a harsh or unfeeling person – anything but in fact – but he was not as soft as he used to be either. It was what came from trying to keep Arthur alive for so long, he supposed. And right now Lucas needed the help more than Connie.

He gave a pointed look in the spy’s direction. ‘I… I can’t heal him,’ he admitted, feeling frustrated and powerless all over again. What use was it to have magic in this day and age if he could hardly fight the weapons of this age with it? What use was any of it now? Maybe there was some spell that would get the job done, but if there was, there was no doubt that he would have to be the one to invent it, because guns didn’t exist in his time, and magic didn’t exist anymore in this one.

Arthur and him being here was probably something that had never been meant to be. They only had Morgana to thank – or blame, depending on one’s perspective – for the fact that they had been able to cross over in the first place. And now he knew that there was a very good reason why he had been warned not to want to look into the future, because this society made him sad, interesting though it was. Why was he even fighting so hard to return magic to the land if it was destined to fade away in its entirety? Or was this simply because he would fail in his quest in his age and magic would never return? Was what he saw in London merely the conclusion of the work Uther had begun?

Realising that his thoughts were taking a direction he could not afford now, he turned to the matter at hand. ‘And Connie will hold out until we get to Thames House. I can heal her there, once Lucas has been dispatched to the medical unit.’ The thought of having to heal Connie repulsed him, but it was not for her sake that he was offering. It was a peace offering to Arthur.

He was rewarded with a curt nod for his troubles, possibly helped along by his glance at Lucas, who, having concluded his duties, had given up on the pretence and was now holding on to the wall for support, lest he fell to the floor. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he agreed.

 

***

 

Ros ignored the doctor’s sputtered and altogether incoherent protests as she discharged herself from the medical unit. Doctor Clemens was prattling on about the possibility of blood poisoning, but she didn’t have the patience for that. If she was bound to get blood poisoning, she would get that even when he wasn’t hovering over her like a mother hen and in the meantime she had work to do.

Truth was, her shoulder hurt like hell, but she could ignore the pain and move on, especially since there were very many other things that needed her urgent attention, like the nuclear suitcase bomb. She had kept checking her wrist – each time being reminded that she had given her watch to the homeless beggar in the abandoned Tube train – and her phone for the time, feeling her stomach clench as it drew ever nearer to three o’clock. Merlin had said there were magical shields around the building, but Ros could tell he had doubts about either his own magical strength or the force of the bomb itself. And that would be something the magnitude of which she had never seen before.

Doctor Clemens told her to keep breathing normally, for which Ros rewarded him with the foulest look she could conjure up as she waited for three pm to happen, eyes fixed on the screen of her mobile phone. This was why she was rather out there in the field, doing everything herself; then she didn’t have to wait while others got their hands dirty. The waiting was more torture to her than running through abandoned service tunnels with the FSB hot on her heels would have been.

Three pm came and it went. Ros strained her ears to make out anything that would suggest that outside a bomb had obliterated London, but the only sounds she heard were the sounds of London on a normal day. There was traffic, and that would not be if the bomb had exploded. For a few minutes she waited – after all the bomb could be a minute late or something like that – but when that didn’t bring any change, she got up from the examination table, thanked the doctor for his efforts, and marched out, leaving him sputtering protests behind her that she had no time for.

She was halfway back to the Grid when her mobile phone rang. She didn’t think she had ever been so grateful to see the words ‘Lucas calling’ on her display. Oh, he was messing with her head to be sure.

‘Myers,’ she said curtly as she answered it.

‘Ros,’ Lucas acknowledged, before he was overcome with coughing that forced him to postpone the rest of his report for another few seconds. She didn’t like the sound of that. ‘It’s done.’

 _What’s done? I’m not a bloody psychic, you lunatic!_ ‘And what exactly is done?’ she demanded. ‘Is the bomb neutralised?’

‘No, exploded.’ She could not actually see his face, but she had the slight suspicion that he was grinning that annoyingly charming grin of his. ‘Connie disarmed it in such a way that it wasn’t nuclear any longer, which is why we haven’t been reduced to radioactive bits, in case you were wondering.’

As a matter of fact she was wondering, but not about the thing he had assumed. ‘ _Connie_ disarmed the bomb?’ As far as she was aware, the intelligence analyst had been moaning about looking for cover and going deeper. True, she had more knowledge about bomb disposal than Ros and Lucas could boast of, but far less willingness than either of them in wanting to go near it. ‘What happened? Did Merlin magically brainwash her?’

He laughed, a hoarse laugh interrupted with more coughing. ‘Sorry, boss. Bloody dust. We’ll probably need bomb disposal and someone to arrest Walter Crane.’

‘Walter who?’ Ros asked.

‘The intended bomber. We nicked the blasted thing from in Grosvenor Square, but we didn’t have the time to get him as well.’

Ros was trying to determine whether this answered questions, or just made her wonder about some more. She silently cursed Mordred for having taken her out of the game before its conclusion. Once, some months ago, she had told Lucas that she was a perfectionist and people getting one over her was something that really annoyed her. And Mordred had for all intents and purposes done just that. She had missed out on all the important bits it would seem, and there was very little that annoyed her more than that.

It was also one of the reasons why she was probably never going to spend her days behind a desk; it frustrated her too much if she could not be in the thick of it. Moreover, she hated to ask other people to take risks she was not prepared to take. Of course, some would argue that she had taken a bit more risks than was healthy given her current condition, but then, that had nothing to do with taking risks, but more with Mordred and his pulling the trigger, something no one could have expected.

‘I’m on it,’ she simply told him. The rest would need to wait until they were in the meeting room doing the debriefing. ‘The Tiresias intel?’ Part of her was also dying to ask about him, and how he was holding up, but that would have to wait. He wouldn’t thank her for it. The job always came first. It was one of the most important rules Ros Myers lived by and she was damned if she was going to break them for Lucas North.

‘On my person,’ he replied curtly. ‘It’s all of it, Ros. Every last name, code. I don’t know how she did it, but it’s there.’

 _Oh, I know how she did it_ , Ros thought. _The same way I did when I worked for Yalta_.

 _It’s not because I’m a spy, but because you’re looking in a mirror_. She squashed that thought. She had nothing in common with that woman. ‘Connie?’ she demanded.

‘Unconscious. Don’t know how serious,’ Lucas reported. ‘Merlin could check her over once he’s done fussing over Arthur.’

‘Fussing over Arthur?’ Ros asked sharply. Maybe she was doomed to parrot his words back to him today. Looking on the bright side, though, it could have been much, much worse.

‘Bloody fool tried to drag Connie out of the blast-range,’ Lucas said, weariness obvious in his voice. ‘Got caught in it himself. Merlin’s checking him over, but I wouldn’t worry if I were you; he’s already insulting Merlin again, so it can’t be so bad.’

‘I wasn’t worrying,’ Ros snapped at the phone, ignoring that little voice in the back of her head that argued that she most certainly was, even if only a little. Arthur was something of a colleague now; she was allowed to care for those. Not that she would tell that to him anytime soon, though.

Lucas’s dismissive snort down the line told her how much he believed of _that_. ‘The FSB?’ he asked, getting back on track. Fortunately he knew better than to try and force her to talk about things she didn’t want to talk about.

‘Harry’s dealing with then, threatening to reveal their part in the would-be bombing unless they call off the bloodhounds.’ Harry had been contemplating bloody murder by the looks of it. Ros had still been a bit delirious and only half conscious when he went off like a bull after a red flag, barking at his phone. She didn’t know how successful he would be, but it would be a fair bet to assume that no one in Moscow wanted this particular cat let out of its bag. It’d be diplomatic meltdown with Russia looking like the villain. Ros rather liked having leverage over them for a change. ‘Best not to risk it yet, though. Merlin can do his nice little magic trick and take you back here.’ She hesitated a moment, before adding her next words. ‘Should I have a stretcher sent to the lobby to pick you up?’

Another snort reached her ears, followed by a grunt of pain, which really was all the answer she needed anyway. ‘Either that or a wheelchair.’ The tone was flippant, but Ros wasn’t fooled for a second. ‘We can be invalids together.’

‘I’m not a bloody invalid, Lucas!’ she hissed. She would have shouted, but that would have made people look at her and she could currently do without the attention. ‘I can actually walk without stumbling.’ The moment she said it, she regretted it. That was too harsh, too cruel, and not something she had really meant to say to him. ‘Get back here, quick as you can,’ she said quickly, before he had the chance to say something. ‘I’ll make sure bomb disposal is on their way. Where are you?’ she added, realising she had actually no idea from where he was calling.

‘Tunnels under London Bridge.’ His response was equally curt. ‘All they need to do is follow the carnage.’ It was a very feeble attempt at a joke; even through the phone Ros could tell his heart wasn’t in it. _Well done, Myers_. ‘We’ll be back before you know it.’

With Merlin’s magic taken into the equation that was probably not an exaggeration, and she was about to say so, when she realised that he had hung up on her, without as much of a greeting. _Oh yes, did it again, Myers. There’s a reason you usually don’t do friends._

She pressed the mental mute button on her thoughts and instead called Harry’s phone to tell him that she had been discharged – which wasn’t entirely a lie; she had just not been discharged by any doctor – that he had to send bomb disposal round to London Bridge – after all, with the bomb already detonated, there was not much Tiresias could do with it anymore – and that she was going downstairs to make sure the intel would get back to the Grid, while she would dispatch the rest of the group – with the possible exception of Merlin – to the doctors. She only listened long enough for him to tell her to take it easy after she had been shot, and for his report that at least for now, the hunt was off. Ros quickly hang up on him when it started to sound like he was going to ask her if she was all right. No, she bloody well was not, but not in the way he meant, and she was not going to tell him that.

She arrived just in time to see Merlin appear in a whirlwind in the lobby, startling the security guards, who were clearly too shocked by this magical appearance of people they knew to be working in this building, but who ought to have walked in rather than transported in, to do anything. One or two of them were getting a little touchy-feely with their guns, but something Lucas snapped – she was too far off to catch his words – made them put their weapons away again. Ros wasn’t fooled, though. He was leaning heavily on Arthur, who was also balancing Connie’s unconscious body in his arms. For one who had recently been caught in a bomb explosion he was holding up remarkably well. But then, that was hardly a miracle after Merlin’s magical treatment.

‘Don’t you look dashing,’ she quipped to Lucas when she came within hearing distance. He didn’t look dashing, though. His face was covered in dust, but even through that she could see how pale he looked. It didn’t help that his hands were blood-stained, and no doubt about the question whether or not that was his own.

He cracked a hesitant smile. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ he countered. ‘Didn’t you bring that stretcher with you, Ros?’

‘Oh, bugger, left it next to my wheelchair,’ she retorted. ‘You’ll have to walk then.’

She didn’t miss the grimace of pain and anticipation when she told him that, alerting her to the fact that this could be quite a bit worse than she had believed. If he didn’t think he could walk such a short distance…

‘Well, you can always lean on Merlin,’ she added. ‘I’d offer my assistance, but…’ She trailed off.

Lucas was more than willing to finish himself. ‘As it is, we’re a pair of bloody cripples both.’ He threw in something that with a little imagination could have passed for that lopsided grin of his. ‘I’ll be fine though. How about you?’

‘Doctor says I might get blood poisoning,’ she reported.

‘Didn’t he want to send you to the nearest hospital then?’ Lucas asked.

‘I don’t have time for that,’ she informed him. ‘Harry’s dealt with the Russians for now, but…’

He finished for her again. ‘Mordred.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

‘Mordred,’ she agreed. And it was about time they found out what he was up to, before he had the chance to turn this into a crisis of Morgana-like proportions. And Ros Myers reacted very badly to getting shot at. She took the targeting of her team even less well. And with the Tiresias crisis abated, Mordred had assured himself of her undivided attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Mordred is under discussion, and of course things go completely pear-shaped. Please review?


	23. Chapter 23

The air was practically crackling with tension as he entered the meeting room, Lucas observed when he came in. It made him feel as if the real crisis was only just beginning, which may or may not be all that wrong. Ros, arm in a sling, which she was clearly planning to shed at the first proper opportunity, was silently seething in her seat. For a woman who was widely believed to be the most unsociable member of the team, she was remarkably ill-tempered when someone tried to attack aforementioned team.

Harry was not that different in his approach to this, with the minor difference that he, unlike his Section Chief, certainly wasn’t quiet about it. He had been lecturing Merlin on the need to share information for the past ten minutes. Merlin had not been able to get as much of a word in, but he had no doubt that the moment he would, he’d take the chance to remind Harry that Lucas had known as well, and that it had been their shared decision to not bleat what they suspected to the world just yet. Lucas could hardly blame him for that; he’d want to head his boss off too, especially when he was in a mood like that.

Merlin appeared to be anxious and jumpy, whereas Arthur mostly seemed angry. The anger was mostly directed at himself, it seemed, something Lucas could understand to a certain extent. After all, if Arthur had been more receptive to the possibility that Mordred was not all that he claimed to be, they might not be here, facing this. Still, Lucas found he couldn’t be angry with the king of Camelot, not truly. After all, it was that same stubborn refusal to think ill of his friends that had made him keep his faith in Lucas when everyone else had given up on him. That didn’t mean he could not be mightily annoyed, though.

His side was still hurting, but the pain was bearable now. The doctors had tried to send him off to the nearest hospital, and had tried that same trick again on Ros while they were at it, but eventually had to settle for cleaning the wound, stitching him up and feeding him more painkillers than he liked when he refused to go, muttering under their breaths how Section D officers were always such a difficult bunch to deal with. Ros had smirked when she heard that.

There was no smirking now, not now they had all been ushered into the conference room while Harry was wrapping up a phone conversation to someone. Lucas didn’t know the recipient of the barked commands, but it would be a safe bet to say that his ears were blistered. He was pleased he wasn’t the one at the receiving end of that anger. Of course, that was bound to change any second now.

As if to back that idea up, a fist was banged on the table with considerable force, making the cups rattle and Jo almost literally jump. ‘What happened?’ Harry demanded.

Lucas saw Merlin being distinctly uncomfortable, but then he manned up and started an explanation that was rattled off so fast that Lucas was almost surprised he could keep up. ‘Mordred attacked us in the service tunnels. We had stopped to dress Lucas’s wound, and he must have gotten hold of the gun somehow, I didn’t see. Then he shot Ros and…’

Harry raised a hand to silence him when it started to sound like he was rambling too much, and then looked to Lucas instead. ‘Lucas?’

It didn’t seem like he was going to be let off easily and so he took his time taking a gulp of coffee to counteract the drowsiness caused by the painkillers – he really couldn’t afford being anything less than alert right now – to buy himself a few seconds, before he related the events slightly more eloquently. It was just another debriefing, he told himself. This was something he could actually do. There wasn’t much else he was good for at the moment, not with his side being so obnoxiously painful and his head insisting on being dizzy. As it was, he had a lingering suspicion that Harry was plotting a way to send both Ros and him home. Or to hospital. Either one. And Lucas was not going to be accommodating if he could help it.

He took his time in telling what had happened, the smallest details he could recall. He started in Russia, where he had first encountered Mordred and told the story from there, explaining that Merlin had entertained suspicions all along, but also that he had no conclusive evidence for any of them, hence their agreement to keep silent and observe, to obtain information.

‘Well, that turned out to be something of a mistake,’ Ros commented sarcastically, glancing down at her arm in the sling.

Of course Merlin took offence. ‘We didn’t _know_!’ he protested. ‘If we’d known, then…’

‘You would have told me?’ Ros arched an eyebrow, but her gaze was on Lucas rather than Merlin, silently asking him why the hell he hadn’t seen fit to confide in her. They had agreed that colleagues were okay, so technically speaking he ought to have trusted her, only he clearly hadn’t. Now that he was asked about his reasoning – even if that happened without words – Lucas was hard-pressed to recall exactly why excluding Ros Myers had sounded like such a good idea. The best thing he could come up with was that, at the time, it had seemed like the best available option. ‘I wish I could believe it.’ Something about her tone of voice sounded remarkably like disappointment, even like hurt, making Lucas cringe, something a stabbing pain in his side a second later reminded him he could better not do at the moment.

Strangely enough it was Arthur who jumped at the barely concealed accusation, which was strange, since he had not even known about Mordred to begin with, and had been just as surprised as Ros herself when Mordred pulled the trigger. ‘We couldn’t have known, could we?’ he demanded of her. Lucas was a bit puzzled why he would suddenly leap to his defence, when he realised that was what Arthur had done for him since Operation Camelot. The king could be a bit of a dollophead at times, as Merlin so eloquently phrased it, but he had to admit that he was a bit moved by this display of loyalty.

‘So, how did Merlin know?’ Harry snapped. ‘You _did_ know before you came here, didn’t you?’ Harry was not the kind of person to let anyone get away with harming one of his team, and Mordred had done just that. _Harry sweated blood to get you back here_ , Ros had once told him, and slowly Lucas was starting to believe it.

‘But I didn’t have any evidence,’ Merlin reminded him. ‘All I had was the prophecy!’

‘What prophecy?’ Harry asked. If this wasn’t a sign that Harry’s trade-mark cynicism concerning anything that wasn’t measurable in facts had taken a – temporary – backseat, then Lucas didn’t know what was. But really, all of them were out of their comfort zones with this. Magic was not a part of their day to day lives, but it was for Merlin and Arthur. It also was for Mordred, which meant they would have to work differently from what they were used to. As for prophecy? Well, if magic was real, who was to see that prophecy wasn’t?

‘The prophecy that mentions him as the one to kill Arthur,’ Merlin replied, not looking pleased at all. Given the circumstances, Lucas could hardly blame him. And it wouldn’t be half as disturbing if he hadn’t had some basic knowledge of the legends. Mordred was the one to kill Arthur in those, wasn’t he?

Arthur had frowned at the mention of the prophecy, which led Lucas to believe that there had been arguments about this subject before.  ‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ he said. ‘He’s never even threatened me.’

‘Oh, then I suppose him trying to get the Russians to succeed in blowing us up with a nuclear suitcase bomb was well-wishing, was it?’ Ros enquired sarcastically.

Arthur was unfazed in the face of the biting Myers sarcasm; he must have gained some immunity from it by hanging around her for too long. ‘Other than that,’ he argued. ‘Unlike what Merlin likes to think, I’m not an idiot. Mordred has never really threatened me, not like he threatened you three!’ When met with confused looks, he all but threw his hands in the air in frustration. ‘He tried to kill Merlin and Lucas in Moscow, right?’

Lucas nodded. ‘He did.’ There was no doubt about that. Mordred’s actions could not be interpreted in any other way, not with the memories of what happened still fresh in his mind.

‘And then he tried to shoot Ros in the tunnels,’ Arthur said. ‘And he pointed the gun at Merlin next. Never at me.’

It started to dawn on Lucas then, too. Arthur was right. The king of Camelot had never been a real target, other than being at risk of being blown to pieces along with the rest of London. While Mordred had made serious attempts on the lives of Merlin, Ros and Lucas, he seemed reluctant to make Arthur a target as well, although his little speech in the tunnel led Lucas to believe that he wasn’t exactly fond of Arthur either. Maybe fond enough to not want to kill Arthur himself, but not fond enough to want to keep him alive either.

Not that this gave him a greater understanding of the recent events. If anything, this only complicated matters. He had never even seen Mordred before he had shown up in Moscow, not even during his time in Camelot. There had been an awful lot of knights there, and serving boys, and nobles, but this Mordred had not been among them. Lucas had photographic memory; he would have remembered this face. And Mordred had only come to Camelot after he had left anyway. So, why had he been an immediate target? That was something he couldn’t quite figure out and, by the looks of it, neither could his colleagues.

‘Then why Ros?’ Jo asked softly, forehead in a frown. ‘He never met any of us before you brought him here.’

‘Disliked me quickly enough,’ Ros pointed out. ‘The FSB could learn something from _that_ glare.’

‘But that doesn’t explain events, does it?’ Arthur said, obviously very unhappy with how things were proceeding. ‘Merlin, are there any clues in that prophecy of yours?’

‘It speaks of an alliance between Mordred and Morgana, united in evil,’ he replied.

‘But Morgana is dead,’ Ros stated.

All in all, this didn’t help them any further and Lucas silently groaned. All this only seemed to suggest that Mordred would have been a friend of Morgana’s had she been alive. But she wasn’t alive, because Ros had shot her. Morgana was dead, of that he was absolutely certain. Didn’t that mean that without her still there, the prophecy would not come true? Unless…

‘It’s not about the future.’ Without giving it a conscious thought he finished his latest thought out loud. It was not even a well-founded theory, but it was one of the few things that could make sense of all the things that had happened lately. ‘The alliance. It’s something that has already happened.’

Probably his colleagues didn’t fully understand him, but Lucas’s mind was racing ahead. Of course it had already happened. If that was the case, then it would explain how why Arthur had not been the one who had been on the receiving end of Mordred’s assassination attempts. He had not been the one to bring down Morgana. He had been there, true enough, but he had not been the one to contribute to her death. Ros, Merlin and Lucas himself were connected by that one thing, the only thing that could explain everything. Lucas had deceived and betrayed Morgana, even though he had never been really on her side, Merlin had distracted her, so that Ros could pull that trigger. The three of them had as good as killed her as a group effort. Arthur had only given them his blessing, but even then he had pleaded for a cure as she was dying.

And Mordred must know that. Lucas didn’t think he had actually been there in person, but then, he had seen enough of Merlin’s magical spying to know that there were more ways to watch than being there in the flesh.

‘He’s out for revenge,’ he concluded his own train of thought, only to find himself stared at by uncomprehending faces. Maybe he had indeed raced too far ahead in his thinking, and had now left them wondering what on earth he was going on about. He couldn’t even really blame them for that.

‘What the bloody hell are you on about?’ Harry all but snapped.

And so he explained, slowly this time, what he had been thinking of, and how exactly that may influence them. The longer he thought about it, the more logical it all began to sound, and there was something distinctly disturbing about that. A powerful sorcerer out on a hunt for them? Of course they had Merlin, but even Merlin could not be in multiple places all at once. Merlin was not omniscient, and he certainly didn’t know what scheme Mordred was up to next. They could only hope he had not yet thought of something; after all he had clearly been hoping to deal with them today, or he would not have blown his cover so spectacularly. There may be no further plans yet. But there would be. If Mordred was anything like Morgana at all, what were the chances that he would just give up when things didn’t go his way right away? Slim to none, to be sure.

‘If you’re right…’ Horror was written all over Merlin’s face.

‘Then we’re all compromised,’ Harry finished, decisively. And all of a sudden it was just another normal day, just another crisis that needed dealing with. There was some comfort in that. By treating this as just another normal operation instead of a full-blown crisis, it was manageable. ‘This takes precedence now. We need to find out if he’s still in London, and if he is, where the hell he’s gone to.’

‘He won’t have gone far,’ Lucas observed. ‘He’ll want to know if we’re all dead. He wouldn’t know if he’d gone back to the portal.’ And that idea was only strengthened because Mordred would not know, not really know, what impact a nuclear device might have on the surroundings.

‘And he’ll come back the minute he realises we’re still alive,’ Merlin added. ‘He won’t leave the job unfinished.’ After successfully surviving two attempts, Lucas supposed he could hardly argue with that.

‘Charming,’ Ros muttered. ‘So, where will he have gone?’

 

***

 

Ros woke early when she rolled over in her sleep and her shoulder reminded her that it had been shot and it did not appreciate this treatment. The painkillers she had taken – had been forced to take,  more like – must have worn off sometime during the night, leaving her to enjoy the delights of being shot in the shoulder by a magical lunatic to the full. Say what you like about lethal injections, but at least they weren’t so painful. Or maybe they were. After all, it was not as if she had been conscious for long enough to really make up her mind on the matter.

The bedroom she found herself in was unfamiliar, and for just a few seconds she was confused as to where the hell she even was. This was most certainly not her bedroom or even her flat. Hers was sparsely furnished too, but this was sparse even for her taste. A hospital room would have been better furnished.

She felt slightly guilty over that thought the next moment when she realised it was the guest room in Lucas’s flat she was occupying, as per Harry’s order that no one should be alone right now, at least not until the threat Mordred posed had been dealt with. On their own they were easy targets, especially with no magic at their disposal. Not that this little fact had dissuaded Ros from taking a gun home with her, and sleeping with it under her pillow. Even sorcerers were not completely immune from guns, as long as she was fast, as Morgana’s case had proven. Other than that there wasn’t much they could do as long as they had no idea what Mordred was up to. And about that they frankly had no clue.

And not for lack of trying. Ros had blatantly ignored Harry’s order to “go home and rest,” and Lucas had followed her good example in favour of ploughing through CCTV footage in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the offending sorcerer on one of them, but it was really a needle in a haystack case, even when Jo had coined the idea that Mordred might have come to London with Morgana – which would explain why he had not been so bewildered with twenty-first century technology as he could and should have been – and that he might be using one or some of her old hide-outs. That was not such a ridiculous thought, but they didn’t know all of them. Ros had suggested pressuring Bob Hogan into telling them, but he had kept his mouth firmly shut since he had learned that their deal was null and void. She might have done the same thing, but it didn’t stop her from exploding when she learned it.

When it eventually turned out that there was nothing any of them could do, Harry had sent them all home. Ros had disliked the notion immediately, but had been forced to admit that her being here was not going to do anyone any good, and her body betrayed her. She actually needed the rest, which had Lucas smiling like a fool. He had quipped that he could try at playing nursemaid, since he was the less injured of the two of them.

‘I’m not the one who stumbled into the lobby,’ she had snapped at him.

‘No, but you have to admit that my bedside manner is better than yours.’ He’d chuckled then. ‘Good God, can you imagine you being a doctor? All your patients would be in tears by the end of the examination.’

It stung a little to know that this was only too true. Moreover, Lucas would probably have every patient love him by the end of an examination, whereas the observation that she would have them in tears was probably wholly justified. She didn’t do social, and they both knew it too. ‘I don’t need a nursemaid, Lucas!’ she barked.

‘Good thing I’m no nursemaid then,’ he remarked. ‘I’m just helping out. Friends are allowed to do that, aren’t they, as well as annoy you.’

Ros had merely rolled her eyes at him, and stalked away from him. Neither of them had been in a fit state to drive and so they had hailed a cab to get them home. The driver had looked at them, wondering what on earth would have had them looking as if they had come straight out of a war zone. In a way they had, but he didn’t need to know.

They had gone to Lucas’s flat, too tired to do more than heat some soup and then roll into bed. Ros supposed that she should have been more aware, since Mordred was still out there somewhere, but she had been asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She blamed the painkillers for the drowsiness that had caused her to drop off so soon and with so little effort.

Well, it wasn’t as if she had been sleeping all that long, she observed when she pulled out her mobile to look at the time. It was only six in the morning. But she was awake now anyway, and her shoulder hurt too much to go back to sleep. Anyway, she was done resting. Her head was clear again, and she could actually think about other things than how tired and sore she was. Not that she wasn’t sore as hell, but she could think around it now. She immediately made the decision to forego the painkillers today. They affected her too much.

Lucas was already in the kitchen, clutching a cup of coffee as if it was a lifeline, head bowed over a newspaper. Yesterday’s paper, she’d wager; it was too early still for today’s.

‘You’re up early,’ she commented, grabbing a cup of coffee for herself.

Lucas snorted. ‘There’s a murderous sorcerer out there, waiting for an opportunity to kill us,’ he reminded her. ‘For some reason I found sleep a stranger.’

 _Yesterday I gave Iran the power to destroy the planet, so for some reason I found sleep a stranger._ For just a second there she could have sworn that Adam was there with them, the phrase was that familiar. And the circumstances under which he had spoken that words were very much the same, too. Early morning and coffee.

Lucas noticed. ‘Ros, are you all right?’ He sounded worried. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Heard one,’ she muttered, furious with herself for letting this creep up on her. Adam was dead, for heaven’s sake, and unless she could pull herself together, she might be exactly that very soon. _So remember that, Myers_. ‘Any news from the Grid?’

‘None whatsoever,’ Lucas reported. He still frowned at her, wondering what he might have done to make her act like that. ‘Did you expect it?’

‘Arthur was staying on the Grid,’ she reminded him. It was the safest place for him too, what with all the magical protection Merlin had put on the building. Mordred could not get in, that was for sure, and as long as Arthur did not wander out, he would be as safe as could be.

‘He was staying on the Grid last night, too, wasn’t he?’ Lucas grinned. ‘He’s probably fallen asleep in the nearest available chair.’

‘Not unlikely,’ she allowed. ‘Anything interesting in that newspaper?’

‘Apparently it’s going to rain today,’ he reported with a smirk. ‘It says so here.’

Given the fact that it was pouring outside, that was hardly world news, and Ros fixed him with as stern a stare as she could manage. ‘You wouldn’t say. Anything else?’

‘Nothing of interest.’ The reply was a bit more serious this time. ‘Do you need a shower, or shall we be off?’

She was glad he had the same idea she had. Sitting here at the flat was terribly boring, even more so because she had a whole list of other things to do. And now that she was actually conscious enough to give Mordred her full attention, she had to admit that she didn’t feel very comfortable in this flat. Ros Myers wasn’t running scared, but she wasn’t going to hang around here any longer than she had to either. It would be a very stupid thing to court danger when there was no real need.

‘You might want to get dressed first,’ she remarked. ‘Although I would like to see Harry’s face when you come to work in your pyjamas.’

He repaid her in her own coin. ‘You might want to brush your hair first,’ he countered. ‘Or else Harry might think there are birds nesting in it.’

‘That’s not even original,’ she complained.

They were off fifteen minutes later. That wasn’t exactly what the doctor had prescribed, but Ros could not care less about his medical advice. It wasn’t as if Mordred was going to be as obliging as to postpone his vengeance until she was fully recovered, and therefore she was not going to take a break. Harry however had tried to back up the doctor’s opinion, to which she had retorted that it might actually be more dangerous to sit at home twiddling her thumbs than it was to be on the Grid and to actually do something about their Mordred-shaped problem.

‘No fieldwork,’ Harry had told her. ‘And no heroics.’

‘Yeah.’

And that had been all that had to be said about the matter really.

Lucas drove. He had left his car at home when he went off to Russia, and had not exactly used conventional means when he had come back to Thames House, so he didn’t have the problem Ros had of having his car still at work. It was calming in a way to do something so normal as driving to work, especially after the madness of the past few days. And it was not as if Mordred would kidnap them in the middle of the road from their own car. He may be bold, but she didn’t think he was _that_ bold.

Still, she caught herself keeping an eye on the pavements for his face, and she checked the rear-view mirror a little too often. She could see that Lucas had noticed, but any opinions he may have about her behaviour he thankfully kept to himself. And it was not as if he was in any position to lecture her about her conduct, since he kept doing the exact same thing. Not that Ros could blame him for that. He had come too close for comfort to another run-in with the FSB yesterday already. Mordred would just be another threat, but perhaps not the biggest threat. And no matter what he had said in the kitchen, she didn’t think it was Mordred who had kept him up last night either.

She let it slide, though. Ros wasn’t one for sharing her personal demons – as she had proven just now by not wanting to talk about Adam – and she didn’t do sentimentality, certainly not about other people, not even when they were her friends. And Lucas was already far too sentimental for his own good, so she wasn’t about to let him wallow in it.

It was a relief to enter the garage. None of Merlin’s magical shields were visible, and he claimed that they shouldn’t be able to see them either, but she certainly felt safer. Not that she would ever admit to that out loud.

As it turned out, they weren’t the first to turn up for the day. Arthur and Malcolm seemed to be trawling CCTV, Harry was on the phone in his office, looking distinctly displeased and Merlin could be seen disappearing into the kitchen, possibly to make himself a cup of coffee. The only one missing here was Jo. Ros knew that she had taken Merlin home with her last night, as per the original plan for the visit, but Merlin was already here. Jo, it seemed, was not.

She followed Merlin into the kitchen and left Lucas to himself. ‘Where’s Jo?’ she demanded, taking the coffee he thought he had been pouring for himself for her own. She could really do with another cup before facing a day that might in all likelihood be wasted on trying to find a sorcerer who literally had dozens of magic tricks up his sleeve to disappear whenever he felt like it.

‘She’s coming in the car,’ Merlin reported. ‘She… ehm… she said she needed some time alone. I think Ben’s death hit her really hard, and there hasn’t been any time for her to mourn, so…’

‘We had other things to do,’ Ros reminded him. It didn’t mean that she didn’t feel guilty about Ben’s demise, because she did. Maybe that was why she was trying her hardest not thinking about it. At any rate she could do without Merlin reminding her and without Jo going to pieces over it, although she might have anticipated the latter, given how she had reacted to her kidnapping by the Redbacks. In her defence, though, she’d had other things on her mind yesterday, and Jo should have other concerns now too, like the fact that Mordred was still out there with a grudge against Section D and no one ought to be alone right now. ‘Did Harry speak Russian or something when he told us that no one should go out on their own right now?’ she asked.

‘She was in the car when I left,’ Merlin said, backing away almost on instinct when confronted with her angry glare. ‘Mordred wouldn’t abduct her in the middle of the road, would he?’

‘How long ago since you left her?’ Ros asked, ignoring the warlock. For someone who could be so suspicious, he could also be remarkably thick from time to time. Despite having thought the same sentiment which Merlin had just expressed, Ros didn’t like the sound of this. Better safe than sorry in this line of work. Sorry usually meant that people had died.

‘Thirty minutes?’ Merlin guessed, apologetic smile on his face.

‘Are you telling me or asking me?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, already well on her way back to the Grid, digging up her mobile as she went. Jo usually needed no longer than twenty minutes to get to work, unless the traffic was bad. It was still early; it wasn’t as bad as it was going to be in an hour. This lateness could be a coincidence, but coincidence didn’t exist in this job, and she knew it. ‘Harry! Have you heard from Jo?’

The boss had left his office, blood pressure clearly no longer in the critic zone, but it seemed that her question made it come dangerously close again. Of course they didn’t have to panic, not yet – and Ros Myers wasn’t in the habit of panicking anyway – but nerves were frayed and suspicion running high. The best, and only, thing to be done was to phone Jo and find out what the hell was taking her so long, and hoping that it was nothing more sinister than heavy London traffic delaying her.

No such luck. Soon enough they all stood huddled around the phone on Ros’s desk, waiting as Jo’s phone rang once, twice, and was then picked up just before the third time. ‘I am very sorry, but Jo Portman is not available at the moment. Good day.’ The connection was severed.

For a moment silence ruled supreme. Then, Merlin broke it. ‘That was Mordred,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: searching for Jo. Please review?


	24. Chapter 24

Something was wrong. Merlin didn’t know exactly when this knowledge first started dawning on him, but he had a lingering suspicion that it was around the time when Ros stared him down, snapping at him that he should not have left Jo on her own. True, he had not forgotten Harry’s orders, but he had not exactly been putting Jo at risk, had he? She really was upset, and looked like she could use some time on her own. It really had not seemed such a risk letting her drive to work on her own while he magically transported himself there. It was not as if she was much of a target anyway.

It was there that he had erred, he now realised as he stared in shock and disbelief at the phone, through which Mordred’s voice had just come. This was not supposed to happen. Jo had never been meant to get caught up in any of this. She had not even been there when Morgana had been killed. So why her? Or had Lucas been wrong? Was this even about revenge for Morgana? Or did he simply not know who was really responsible, therefore going after all of them to make sure he got to the culprits for sure? Just when he thought he was starting to grasp what was going on, he found himself at a loss again. Jo hadn’t had anything to do with Morgana’s demise, not a single thing!

‘That was Mordred,’ he whispered in shock.

Ros fixed him with as foul a glare as he had ever seen her make, and this time he wasn’t even that convinced that he didn’t deserve it. After all, he had left Jo on her own, knowing full well Harry Pearce would bite his head off for it. But the, he had deemed Jo’s state of mind more important. Not for even a single second had he anticipated that perhaps she could be a target for Mordred’s revenge as well. He was starting to realise that was a mistake, a very big mistake.

‘I’m sorry.’ Those were the only words that could be said, and even that was too little and too late. Mordred had not even tried to disguise the fact that he wanted them dead. What would make him keep Jo alive? There was no telling if she wasn’t dead already. And then it truly would have been his fault. He had made mistakes before, had made errors of judgement before today, but never had the results been quite this bad. And it was too late to change things now, may even be too late to bring Jo back alive.

‘You’d better be,’ Harry growled. ‘Meeting room everyone. Now.’ He turned to Malcolm. ‘Try to trace Jo’s phone.’

It didn’t do anything to ease the anxiety he felt, but it was a reassuring feeling that someone was taking charge, and that something was being done to find Jo. It beat sitting down and doing nothing any time. And maybe it was one of those things that came with being a servant and never having as much as a minute to relax when he wasn’t sleeping that he didn’t know what to do with himself when there was nothing to do for a change. He needed the work, more so because his head would fill with worst case scenarios if he didn’t.

Not that those worst case scenarios didn’t come anyway. That was the problem with this. He could think of all the things that could go wrong – or had gone wrong already – and of only very few solutions, certainly because they hadn’t had any leads so far, which was a very depressing thought to be sure.

The conference room filled up quickly, but there were too many empty spots around the table. They missed Jo, of course, but Connie’s spot was empty as well. Merlin still wasn’t sure what to think of Arthur’s one-man-rescue, but he would readily admit that Connie had been a good analyst with a sharp mind. They could use the sharp minds now, especially in the current disaster. This was turning out to be a very Morgana-like crisis and they were two men – or, more accurately, _women_ – down. And that wasn’t even taking the fact that Ben had been killed two days ago – how could it be only two days ago, when it felt like so much longer? – into the equation. That was no way to begin an operation, even he could tell that.

Harry called them all to order with a bang on the table. ‘Right, what do we know?’ He hurled the question at his team, clearly expecting an answer. This would be a brainstorming session, guesswork, although no one would call it that in Harry’s hearing. There simply was nothing else to go on.

‘Mordred is out for revenge on the people he holds responsible for Morgana’s death,’ Lucas volunteered after a lengthy silence.

‘But that is not entirely true,’ Arthur objected. ‘Jo had nothing to do with it.’

‘But Mordred doesn’t know that,’ Lucas said.

Merlin shook his head. ‘I think he does know,’ he disagreed. He had been thinking about this for a while, ever since they had realised that it was indeed revenge the Druid was after. ‘Think about it,’ he urged the team. ‘He never really went for Arthur, even though he had plenty of opportunity. He only ever targeted the three of us.’ He made an arm gesture that included Lucas and Ros into the us. ‘But Arthur was there as well, at the Isle of the Blessed, and yet he somehow seemed to know that he didn’t pay an active part in the killing.’ He inwardly cringed at the word. He had long since come to term with what had happened there, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to think about, even months after the event. He supposed he should be grateful for the fact that he had not been the one to actually pull the trigger; that would have been too painful.

‘He magically spied on us.’ Lucas was of course the first to catch on. ‘He saw what we were doing.’

‘If that is the case, then why Jo?’ Ros retorted, bringing the question back to the main point. ‘Because she was alone? The easiest to get his hands on?’

‘Because she is someone we all care about.’ Lucas looked like he had a sudden revelation. ‘She’s not the target.’

‘She’s the bait.’ Merlin didn’t think Harry could possibly look any more grim than he had already, but he could and did. ‘It’s like the bloody Redbacks all over again.’

Merlin had heard some things about that group, but he didn’t know the details and so couldn’t place the remark, but he could figure out that something like this had happened before, and that Jo quite possibly had been the one who had been used as bait then as well, although he didn’t know for whom she had been filling that role. But he did know something about the problems Jo’d had with coming to terms with what had been done to her then, and the very thought of it made his blood boil.

Ros nodded, with a matching expression of grim determination on her face. ‘Bloody brilliant of him, too, taking someone we all care about.’

She was right about that, Merlin realised. They all cared about Jo. Harry and Ros cared for her as a colleague, one of their own. He’d heard before that Section D looked after its own, and he’d seen it, too. It was only logical that they wanted her back, alive if at all possible. That would make sense. And he cared for her himself. Not that he would admit to any of this out loud – he could almost hear Arthur’s annoying commentary – but he did. Jo was a dear friend, one of the first friends he’d made in London, and now she was kidnapped to bait him. He would take care not to walk right into a trap, but he would get Jo back if only he could. That was the thing one did for friends, wasn’t it? Especially since it was more or less his fault that she was in this situation to begin with.

‘So, that could mean that she is still alive?’ The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. ‘If she’s meant to be bait for us to take?’

Lucas nodded. ‘Very likely.’

Arthur nodded. ‘So, he will make it easy for us to find him,’ he concluded. There was that look in his eyes that Merlin recognised from when Arthur was planning strategy. The king may not be much of a spy, but he understood warfare better than most, and he was a skilled hunter on top of that, a skill that Merlin, despite years of tagging along, had failed to master thus far. This was right up his street, something he knew how to do. ‘He’ll pretend to make it difficult, but leave enough clues for us to follow and then he’ll try to trap us.’

‘Bit obvious,’ Harry judged.

‘Maybe,’ Arthur said. ‘But what’s the point in making it difficult if he wants us to find him? That is what we’re thinking, isn’t it?’

Merlin saw Harry’s face darken at that particular use of phrase. Last time someone had said something like that, the Section Head had all forcefully – and loudly – reminded them that there was no such thing as guessing in MI-5. They needed facts to build on. But facts were in short supply right now. They would have to make do with the little that they had, and that led to guessing almost automatically.

This time it was Ros who risked her boss’s wrath by nodding. ‘Yes.’

‘So, where would he have taken her, then?’ Lucas asked. ‘One of Morgana’s old places? But we don’t know where they are.’

Harry hadn’t spoken thus far, and so Merlin decided to risk it and join the discussion. ‘Maybe one of the places where you met her,’ he supplied. ‘Or…’ Another idea suddenly hit him. ‘The barn. The place where the barn stood.’ Where she failed to take Arthur, and took Lucas instead. Not that there was any need to voice that thought; they would all remember that incident rather too well. Lucas himself would be the last person to forget such a thing.

And it made sense. The barn itself had been reduced to a pile of broken wood on a meadow during that showdown, but some farmer or other had cleared away the rubble and had begun to build a new barn close to where the other had stood. And it was one of the places where they had beaten Morgana – in a manner of speaking – and it was relatively close to the portal, which meant that he had an escape route. Not that he needed one, technically speaking, since he could magically transport himself away whenever he felt like it.

Of course Mordred didn’t need to be there, Merlin knew that well enough. There were other likely places, the number one on that list being the Isle of the Blessed. But Mordred had seemed a bit impatient, and travelling to the Isle might take a while. Of course, that too was relative, since they could travel magically now, but Merlin was not entirely sure how many people he could transport at a time. Three had taken quite a bit of effort already, and he wouldn’t go to that place with only the three of them. No, until proven otherwise, the barn was their best bet.

He had hardly finished that thought when Malcolm burst into the meeting room, face a little too pale and too shocked to be healthy.

‘Knock, Malcolm,’ Harry said wearily. ‘Do I need to put up a sign?’

Malcolm, in true Section D tradition, ignored that. ‘I’ve traced Jo’s mobile phone,’ he announced. The tone of voice suggested that none of them were going to like whatever it was that he had found.

‘Where is it?’ Harry sounded weary still, hands rubbing his temples as if he was fighting a headache. Not that Merlin could really blame him for that. So much had happened lately, and this was just one thing too many. A break would be much appreciated, but each moment they took to sit back and relax was a moment in which Mordred could end Jo’s life, if he hadn’t done so already. Of course there was a chance that he would keep Jo alive, but it was still nothing more than a theory, and they all knew it.

They knew that it would be bad even before Malcolm replied. He only just gave the confirmation. ‘Near the portal,’ he replied. ‘Where the barn used to stand.’

Merlin could have sworn a gust of ice-cold wind went through the room, he felt so cold. Logic told him that no such thing had happened, but it was a terrifying thing to realise all the same. He had been thinking about that barn just now, had been thinking how perfect a place it would be for Mordred to take his revenge. And here they were, hearing to the evidence that Jo’s phone had been found in that exact spot. Coincidence was something Merlin had long since stopped believing in. This was no coincidence.

And clearly he was not the only one to think that. Ros cursed under her breath, and Lucas followed her example. The set of Arthur’s jaw betrayed that he too knew exactly what this meant. But then, a fool could have put the pieces together. And from what he could see from Arthur now, the king was preparing to go to war. He had only ever seen that particular expression minutes before a fight, when he had put all other emotions and thoughts away, focusing only on the fight before him, and nothing else.

‘Ros, Merlin, get down there. Find out if he really is there.’ Harry took charge. Less than two seconds had passed since Malcolm had dropped this bomb on them. ‘Lucas, Arthur, go to Jo’s place and see what you can find out. Maybe one of her neighbours has seen something.’

Lucas looked less than pleased, but Ros was already on her feet. ‘Will do, Harry.’

Her boss fixed her with a stern glare. ‘No heroics, Ros.’

The sardonic smile that followed that order was rather predictable. ‘Yeah.’ Meaning no. Merlin didn’t blame her for that. He himself had no plans to stay back and let Mordred get away. That was a mistake he had made yesterday, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. They were rather alike in that, he noticed. Maybe they had more in common than he would have initially thought.

‘I mean that, Rosalind,’ Harry said, clearly taking Ros’s answer for all that it was worth. ‘No heroics. Just observe, find out if Mordred is there, and if that is where he’s holding Jo, and then come back to report. And that is non-negotiable!’ he added, pre-empting the protest Ros was clearly on the verge of making.

This time he got a curt nod for his troubles, which was clearly enough to satisfy Harry. Or maybe he knew it was the best he could hope for under the given circumstances. Ros and Merlin merely exchanged glances, pleased to note that the other had absolutely no intention to follow orders. In this particular case it was a relief to have Ros Myers on his side, because she had the same tendency towards her team that Merlin had towards Arthur, to protect them no matter what the personal cost.

‘Yeah,’ she said again.

‘Merlin?’ Harry fixed him with a stern glare. ‘Only observation. Nothing else.’

Merlin gave him a curt nod. ‘Of course.’ Sometimes he really functioned best when he didn’t listen to orders anyway.

 

***

 

Lucas felt like receiving the porcelain doll treatment all over again, and he wasn’t even sure why. True, he was injured, and he may have winced once within Harry’s sight when he made a wrong move, but that was as far as his display of weakness went. It certainly didn’t warrant this, him being sent off on a relatively low-risk mission to find out what he could about Jo’s abduction with Arthur Pendragon tagging along. Not that he objected to Arthur’s presence, not at all; the king of Camelot was good company most of the time, and quite bright too when he put his mind to it.

No, Arthur wasn’t the problem and neither, he had to admit, was the mission itself. Of course it was necessary to find out all that they could about the abduction, but it was something a junior field officer could have done. Which was of course the core of the problem. A junior field officer could have done this, easily, but there were no junior field officers available. One had died, the other had been kidnapped and could be dead. That left only the senior officers and the Camelot Division, as Ros had mockingly called them last night.

So yes, he understood perfectly that someone had to go and find out what had happened at Jo’s. He only objected to the thought that it should be him, whereas Ros, who had suffered a far worse injury, was sent out on a far more dangerous mission that could lead to a very unfortunate run-in with the Druid they were hunting. Harry didn’t seem to have any reservations about asking his Section Chief to take risks, but he treated Lucas with the kid gloves, and it was driving him up the wall. How many times would he have to prove that he didn’t need the special treatment and that he actually could look out for himself? He certainly didn’t plan on spending the rest of his career trying to point it out.

But there was nothing to be done about it now, and so he accepted his orders, made sure to stop by Malcolm’s work station to pick up legends for himself and Arthur that proclaimed them Detective Inspector Peter Lawson and Sergeant William Milford, and then called Arthur to join him. Police was a good cover, Lucas knew, but as they made the walk to the car park in silence, he couldn’t help but remember the day Ros and he had run into Arthur and Merlin for the second time, the day he had tried to extract some information about men playing at being knights from the village gossiper under the same disguise. It felt like a lifetime ago.

‘So, what are we going to do?’ Arthur asked when Lucas started the engine and drove out of the garage. ‘Are we going to search Jo’s place?’ He seemed a bit uneasy about the prospect.

Lucas only arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Problem with that?’

He got a shrug in response. ‘Not really.’ The expression on his face told Lucas that he most certainly did have a problem with it, though.

‘Yes, you do. Why?’ he questioned. Normally he wouldn’t have been this snappish, but normally his colleagues didn’t get abducted either. The strain this caused made him ill-tempered, and his mood wasn’t helped along by Harry’s special treatment.

To his surprise Arthur seemed almost embarrassed at the question. ‘Long story,’ he muttered. ‘I had to search Morgana’s chambers once.’

‘It didn’t go well,’ Lucas concluded. Suddenly he found that he craved the distraction of the story Arthur would be able to tell, of times that weren’t as dangerous as the one they were currently living in.

Arthur snorted. ‘She made me look a complete fool.’ He stared out of the window, seemingly lost in thought. ‘It’s strange. That was when we were searching the castle for a hiding Druid boy.’

‘You mean Mordred?’ That did manage to peek his interest. And it was a distraction at the very least.

‘Yes.’ Arthur nodded, but kept on staring out of the window with unseeing eyes. That was something the Arthur Pendragon of a few months ago might not have been capable of doing. Things had really changed.

‘What happened?’ Lucas prompted.

‘My father had ordered me to take the knights and search the castle for the boy,’ Arthur narrated. ‘All of it. We were to turn every stone in search of him, and that meant that Morgana’s quarters had to be searched too. It was all a bit humiliating, because that would make her look like a suspect for hiding him, and no one really wanted to implicate the king’s ward, or wake her temper.’ There was something akin to fondness to his voice as he recounted the tale, something Lucas found hard to imagine anyone could feel for a woman such as Morgana.

No, that was not true, he reminded himself. He himself had been dangerously close to sympathy for Uther’s bastard daughter. They had been very much alike in some ways, and that was what had softened him towards her. He had never been close to anything like Stockholm Syndrome, and he had hated her in the end, beyond the shadow of a doubt. But still, he’d had some sympathy for her. Fondness, though? No, he had not, not the way Arthur and Merlin had.

‘So you went?’ he asked.

Arthur chuckled. ‘She wasn’t pleased to see me. Asked me to what she owed this pleasure, and when I said I came to search her chambers, she became angry with me for messing up her things. Taunted me, too. “If you can’t even find your own servant, what hope do you have of finding the boy?” Of course I didn’t know that both Mordred and Merlin were hiding in her room, out of sight, behind some dressing screen.’

That surprised Lucas. ‘Merlin? He was helping her to hide Mordred?’ As long as he had known Merlin, he would never help someone he considered a danger to Arthur. The prophecy mentioned both Mordred and Morgana, didn’t it?

‘They were as thick as thieves.’ Arthur grinned wryly. ‘Before…’ He trailed off. ‘Before.’ He left it at that. ‘Morgana said she would save me the time and that the Druid boy was hiding behind the screen.’

Lucas would not claim that he harboured any sympathy for the witch now, but he laughed. That had been a very clever scheme indeed. By pointing out the one place where the child was hiding, she had ensured that Arthur would never think to look there, because it would make him look like an idiot if he took her word for it and there was no boy to be seen. He hadn’t known Morgana Pendragon all that well, but she had been the type to gloat. She would have gloated about that.

‘She was clever,’ Arthur allowed. ‘The only one who dared to stand up to my father.’

None of them stated the obvious: that in the end her standing up to Uther had turned her into a merciless witch who would and did kill to achieve her goals. The more or less cheerful atmosphere that had filled the car during the story vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving Lucas to ponder about what he knew.

Which wasn’t all that much. He had understood Morgana to a certain extent, but he would never claim that he understood Mordred, or could anticipate his actions the way he had been able to anticipate Morgana’s. Oh, he understood vengeance well enough, and he had taken great and very unprofessional pleasure in taking down Arkady Kachimov for what the FSB official had put him through when he had been at his mercy. No, he was no stranger to revenge, but Mordred was different. He was unstable, Lucas thought, extremely passionate about what he was doing, and certainly very determined. But he was also intelligent, intelligent enough to fool the king of Camelot and even confuse Merlin, intelligent enough that his assassination attempt could be looked at as an accident. It was this combination that made him so unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. Morgana had been dangerous in her own way, but her plans had almost been transparent in comparison with Mordred’s. They had been fooled by what he was planning before. They thought they knew that they were the target, and that therefore Harry and Jo and others were not in danger. It was now obvious that they had no idea what the Druid would and wouldn’t do.

He didn’t know if any clues could be found in Jo’s house. Mordred wouldn’t have needed more than three seconds, if that, to grab Jo and get out again. What were the chances of anyone seeing that, that early in the morning? It wouldn’t have been fully light, especially not with the clouds and the rain. It wasn’t raining now, but it had been pouring a few hours ago, and there was nothing to suggest that it wouldn’t do so again very soon. Chances of anyone seeing anything were rather small, if not entirely non-existent. Although he’d have to admit that a whirlwind was a way to attract attention to oneself.

The street was deserted when they parked the car and walked the last two minutes. Jo’s car was still there, but then, Lucas had not expected it to be gone. Mordred may have seen a car before, if there was some truth in the idea of him having been in London before, but he wouldn’t know how to drive one, and he wouldn’t need a car when he could transport himself over enormous distances in the time it took him to blink his eyes.

‘What do we do?’ All of a sudden there wasn’t anything left of the decisive leader who had the command over an army of knights. In many ways Arthur Pendragon was indeed a junior officer who looked to Lucas, the senior officer, for guidance. Or, at least, he did that when he was in London, and not talking to Merlin. It would make him feel a bit better about himself that he was indeed looked at as the senior officer, but he wasn’t able to forget that at this moment Ros was stalking around the remnants of the barn, looking for Mordred, while her shoulder was still very much injured, and she had rejected the offer of painkillers, so she would feel the pain.

He didn’t really dislike her for getting the assignment he wanted. Ros hadn’t done it on purpose, and she wanted Mordred badly. It was Harry he resented for this. And even that was not entirely true, either. It showed that Harry cared, something he had rather doubted for eight long years. This however was the other extreme, too much caring. It was suffocating, and it got on Lucas’s nerves.

But Arthur couldn’t help that, and so he answered the question. ‘Ring the doors of the neighbours, find out what you can find about Jo’s movements this morning. Tell them that she’s a suspect in a robbery. That will make them talk.’

Arthur positively frowned at him. ‘We’ll ruin her reputation,’ he pointed out. ‘When she comes back, all her neighbours will think she is a criminal. We can’t do that to her, can we?’

 _When_ , he’d said. _When she comes back_. It was good to hear that he hadn’t lost his faith in happy endings, but Lucas didn’t share his optimism. ‘We need to find her back alive first. We’ll deal with the fallout later.’ He didn’t add his own pessimistic idea that there may not even be a fallout to deal with when all was said and done. Mordred had clearly no reservations about killing his enemies, and he certainly didn’t consider Jo a friend of his. Lucas was pretty positive that she wasn’t dead now, but she might be so very soon unless they found her before Mordred realised they were on to him.

And at least Arthur was no longer protesting. He merely nodded and went off, police ID in hand to show to the neighbours, while Lucas proceeded to Jo’s house. The car keys he found on the stones, right next to the car in a puddle. Merlin had mentioned something about her having been in the car already when he left, so she must have gotten out. The car clearly hadn’t left the driveway. Surely that meant that Mordred had taken her outside, in plain view of at least six of her neighbours’ houses. Surely someone must have seen something?

It was child’s play to get into the house and find a way around the – active – security systems inside. Harry was in possession of the codes and had given them to him to aid him in his break-in. And if called upon, he could produce a police ID and a very genuine looking search warrant to justify why he was there.

The search of the house proved to be remarkably useless, though, as he had more or less expected. Everything pointed at Jo having been abducted outside, not inside. Mordred at least was clever enough to wait until Merlin was gone before he had made his move. Given the way the fight in the tunnels had turned out, that was only the clever thing to do.

‘Lucas?’ Arthur called his name when he was upstairs throwing a quick glance at the spare bedroom, that looked like Merlin had spent the night there. Interesting; clearly those rumours about them weren’t true at all. He would have found it more interesting though if there was a less sinister reason for searching a colleague’s house.

‘Coming!’ he shouted down the stairs, before doing exactly that. The tone of voice had been equal parts excitement and anxiety, and Lucas didn’t like the sound of that.

He found Arthur in the living room, seemingly very ill at ease, the police ID of the non-existent Sergeant Milford in his hands, clasping it as if it was a lifeline.

‘Did you find anything?’ the king of Camelot asked.

Lucas shook his head. ‘I didn’t expect to.’ He too remained standing; something about the idea of sitting on the sofa was off. His side wasn’t hurting him as much as it could have done anyway, even without the painkillers. He’d had worse, and he could ignore the pain. ‘Did you find something?’

‘The first two houses were empty,’ Arthur reported. ‘But Jo’s neighbour across the street reckons she’s seen something, only she thought she imagined it. She claims she saw a young man appearing out of nowhere, and the next he was gone. So was Jo.’ Arthur swallowed. ‘She’s old, and she certainly didn’t want to believe that Jo had anything to do with illegal activities. Questioned my sanity about that.’

But that was not the most important thing, though. Of course Jo would never find herself on the wrong side of the law; everyone who knew her could tell you that. But the mention of the young man sounded far too alarming. ‘Did she see anything else?’

‘The rain blocked most of her sight,’ Arthur reported. ‘And she said that there was very much wind at the moment it all happened.’

The whirlwind that accompanied the magical appearances and disappearances. And judging by the look on Arthur’s face, he knew what this meant. And of course it was nothing they had not already been strongly suspecting, but it did confirm it, and that was unwelcome news all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Ros and Merlin take a look around the barn and the Home Secretary gets a bit of a nasty shock. Please review?


	25. Chapter 25

They transported to the village, appearing between a bunch of trees just outside that would obscure them from the view of the villagers and at the same time gave them the chance to study the area without being seen. The rainclouds were still very present and Merlin had the annoying feeling that they would be rained on very soon, if they hadn’t sunken into the mud first. It was the worst possible day for such an expedition, but at least this might mean they could find some footprints before the new rain washed them all away. If they were very lucky.

As it was, the field where the barn had stood was completely abandoned. There was nothing there or rather, there was nothing that shouldn’t be there, which wasn’t quite the same.

In truth, he didn’t know what he had been hoping for, except that he had been praying not to find Jo’s corpse. Death was so final after all. Even he could not possibly bring her back if Mordred had decided to dispose of her, which he probably wouldn’t do if there was any truth to the theory that he was using her to bait Section D. Merlin would hate to think it, but it rather seemed as though Mordred knew exactly what he was doing.

‘There’s no one,’ he observed, rather unnecessarily, since Ros could see that for herself. He just needed to say something, needed to break the uncomfortable silence around them. He had the distinct feeling Ros was blaming him for Jo’s abduction, and he couldn’t find it in himself to condemn her for that. He had been foolish to leave her. Merlin was no stranger to guilt – in fact, he might even go as far as to call it a very frequent companion of his – but that didn’t mean it was ever any less painful. Quite the contrary, it grew stronger every time he unknowingly and unwillingly put someone’s life in danger. ‘And they’re not hiding by magic. I would have sensed it.’

Ros nodded, accepting it for a fact. At least where magic was concerned, he still counted as the unquestioned authority. ‘They rebuilt the barn over there.’ She pointed in its general direction. ‘Anyone there?’ Curt, and to the point. To a casual onlooker it might almost look as if she didn’t care. It was just because Merlin knew her longer – and then he wasn’t even sure that knowing Ros was the correct description for their acquaintance at all – that he suspected that it was just a way she used to mask her feelings.

He responded in kind. ‘I can’t tell. Not from here. I’ll need to look inside.’

Ros snorted. ‘Magic doesn’t go through walls?’ she asked sceptically.

Merlin in turn treated her to the dazzling smile that was his mask of choice. ‘It tends to blast them out, though,’ he retorted. Now he was sure he had spent too much time around the spooks and their sarcasm. He had a sense of humour of his own, but it wasn’t usually so bitter.

‘I’ve seen that,’ Ros returned. ‘We’ll take a look at the old site first, then move on to the barn.’ It wasn’t a suggestion as much as an order.

Well, it wasn’t as if he had ever been in the business of listening to those anyway. ‘If Mordred’s there, he’ll have plenty of time to get away,’ he pointed out.

‘He’ll have that anyway,’ Ros reminded him, giving a pointed look to the meadows stretching out in front of them. Nowhere to hide behind. If Mordred was paying attention, which would be very highly likely, then he could see them coming a mile off. Almost literally.

‘Fine,’ he conceded. ‘Let’s go.’ Arthur hated it when he did that, acting like he was in charge when the king was the one with the right to decide when and where they went. Ros Myers wasn’t any different, but she didn’t waste time telling him to shut up, instead walking out into the meadows with long strides before Merlin had even finished talking, leaving him to run after her like a dog after its master. As games of one-upmanship went, she definitely had the edge on him.

But today was not really the time for games. Somehow this had escalated in a Morgana-like crisis and Merlin found himself in a constant state of anxiousness. True, it was his duty to protect Arthur first and foremost, but it wasn’t him in the first line of fire. As it was, Mordred would probably save him for last out of some twisted feeling of affection. Right now, Jo was the one they needed to worry about.

‘There’s nothing here,’ he concluded when they reached the site where the barn had stood. Not that there was any trace left of the building at all; it had been completely demolished. It was just part of a meadow now.

‘There’s something here, all right,’ Ros muttered. She bended over and picked something up that was lying at her feet, holding it out to Merlin for inspection. Jo’s mobile phone, still switched on.

‘That’s hers,’ Merlin confirmed. He had seen her use it to send a text to her mother during breakfast, after which she had taken a little video of Merlin as he magically cleaned up the dishes. They’d laughed over that, joked over what would happen if that video was ever posted on the internet, and how people would probably never even consider that it really was more than a cheap trick. After all, no one believed in magic anymore these days. Well, no one except the members of Section D. Oh yes, he knew this device, and he had to swallow before and look away so that Ros couldn’t see the emotion written all over his face. Ros wouldn’t think any better of him if he did.

‘Mordred knows what he’s doing,’ Ros growled. ‘He left it switched on so that we would find it, long after he’s gone. This is a wild goose chase.’ She directed an angry look at her current companion. ‘What the hell were you thinking, bringing him to the Grid?’

 _About how much I didn’t want to lose what little faith Arthur still had in me_. ‘I wasn’t sure!’ he protested instead. ‘All I had was that prophecy and some suspicions. I could not be certain, and Arthur wouldn’t listen!’ The frustration boiled over to such an extent that he had blurted out the last part of that sentence before he could stop himself. It wasn’t something he had meant to say. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t true.

‘Let’s check the barn.’ Ros didn’t even respond to what he was saying, but if that was because she disapproved of his actions or just because she was anxious herself, Merlin couldn’t tell. It was difficult to get the measure of Ros Myers on a normal day, but on days like these, she was what Gaius had once accused Merlin of being: a riddle wrapped up in a mystery. He wondered if Harry and Lucas had taken courses on how to handle her.

But if she was blaming him, she had every right to, he supposed. He _had_ messed up, spectacularly, and if not for him and his decision to give Jo some time on her own, they would not be in this situation at all. He was all too keenly aware of that.

It wasn’t a big surprise that the barn was devoid of any life signs, well, human life signs. A couple of cows were lazily sweeping their tails, staring at the duo when they entered before directing their attention back to their food. Of course Mordred could have magically transformed himself and his captive to blend in with the inhabitants of this place, but a quick spell revealed that the cows really were just ordinary cows. Even though he hadn’t pinned any real hopes on that option, he still felt disappointed.

And so did Harry when they transported back to Thames House and imparted the news on him, even though the head of Section D was decidedly more vocal about his disappointment. The cups on the table in the meeting room rattled and a desk officer who had just come in to ask something changed his mind and quickly dashed back to the Grid. That might be a very wise decision; Harry clearly wasn’t in the mood for anything that didn’t involve this case. His behaviour reminded Merlin strangely of that one time that Lucas had been taken, something for which Merlin himself could also be held more or less responsible. He pushed that inconvenient thought away right away.

The next minute it became clear why Harry’s mood had already reached notoriously new lows before Ros and Merlin had come back; they weren’t the first to come back to base. Arthur and Lucas had beaten them there, with more bad news. Jo had apparently been taken outside, minutes, maybe even seconds after Merlin had left, which meant that Mordred had been keeping them under surveillance, just waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. Merlin had as good as handed Jo over on the silver platter by leaving.

It seemed that he wasn’t the only one well aware of that, since he got to endure the brunt of Harry’s temper. Merlin didn’t even try to stop him; it would be useless.

In the end it was Ros who stepped in, much to his surprise. ‘Harry, this won’t help!’ she said forcefully. The warlock had a lingering suspicion that she was one of the few people who could call the boss out on his behaviour and actually get away with it.

And she did get away with it. Harry favoured her with a stern glance, but otherwise let the matter pass. ‘What do we know?’ he asked briskly.

To his surprise it was Arthur who spoke. ‘He’ll have returned to Camelot,’ he said. ‘He’s been living as a Druid for a very long time…’

‘Because he is a Druid,’ Merlin pointed out. Not that Mordred was typically behaving like one, but that was beside the point.

Arthur ignored him. ‘He’s travelled. A lot. He knows a lot of places, hiding places. He could be anywhere. And we won’t be able to do much from here. My knights know every inch of the kingdom.’

‘What makes you think he isn’t hiding in London?’ Lucas asked.

‘He’s trying to bait us, isn’t he?’ Arthur didn’t even really sound like himself anymore. He was starting to sound like a spook. Well, it was not something Merlin could really criticise. He himself was guilty of working like they would. ‘He’ll go somewhere where he will have the advantage. He’s been here, so he has seen how very easy it would be for us to track him here and attack him with good chances of success.’

‘I’d hate to say, but he is right,’ Ros said. ‘If I was Mordred, I wouldn’t want to risk that my opponent could come in all guns blazing. In Camelot he’ll have the upper hand.’ And they wouldn’t have any surveillance equipment, or back-up. Well, they’d have the knights, but Merlin had seen one too many sorcerer who could finish a dozen knights in the blink of an eye.

It all made sense. That was the problem. It all made far too much sense. Mordred wouldn’t linger here. If he had been planning on taking his revenge here, he would have done it at the barn, because that was a significant place. But even that had been a stretch. Merlin did no longer doubt that Mordred had known Morgana and was seeking revenge for her death. They didn’t know what exactly he had known. The barn incident had been a defeat for Morgana, but who was to say that they had met after the Tube bombing? Who was to say that he had known about the barn?

But there was something he did know. He must know about the showdown on the Isle of the Blessed. The evidence was not exactly conclusive, but it pointed in that direction. Merlin, Ros and Lucas had been the chosen targets. Those three were also the ones to cause Morgana’s death. The man who had distracted her, the woman who had shot her and the man who had betrayed her. Arthur had been there, but he had been the one to hold her as the last breath left her body, one last act of kindness performed to a woman who had rejected it.

‘Isle of the Blessed.’ The words left his mouth without his permission. The Isle of the Blessed or any other place in Camelot. Who knew how many hideouts Mordred really had. _And who’s to say they’re all within Camelot’s boundaries?_ But they had to start somewhere, and the Isle was a place of significance, a place where something important had taken place. And if Arthur was right and Mordred was trying to get them where he wanted them, then there was no place better suited to his needs than that. If he wanted to make this big and dramatic, what better venue could he choose?

There was a short moment of silence during which everyone processed what he’d said. Lucas had paled a little, something Merlin didn’t think had anything to do with his injuries, but more with the memories that name made resurface. Ros’s lips had tightened to the point where they became just one small line. Harry’s face was a study in unhappiness. Arthur only nodded, once, just an acceptance of the truth.

‘We’ll go back to Camelot,’ Arthur announced. It was telling that no one even protested to him for all intents and purposes calling the shots; Merlin would have expected Harry and Ros to throw a fit. Normally they would have. But this was not normally, and now Jo’s life was on the line. ‘I’ll arrange a search party. Merlin, you’ll go to the Isle of the Blessed, check it over, find out if Mordred is there and then report back. If he’s on an island filled with magic, we need to know what exactly we’re up against.’

Merlin would almost smile at the far too familiar scene of Arthur declaring himself in charge and dealing out orders like he was born to do. It was reassuring, something that was still as it had always been in this otherwise so very messed up world.

And there was not a word of protest from the spooks. Harry went as far as a stern glare, before he cut Arthur off, though. Well, two men who both believed themselves to be the leader of the operation in one room, that was bound to cause some kind of friction. ‘We’ll move to Camelot for the time being.’ In fact, Arthur had more or less made that decision for him, but it was probably best to let Harry have the idea that he had a say in the matter as well. In fact, he did have a say in the matter. ‘And if Mordred is targeting Section D operatives, we could all be compromised.’

He exchanged a look with Ros, who nodded. Merlin didn’t know what that meant, but he’d bet it wasn’t good.

‘We’ll have to tell the Home Secretary,’ the Section Chief agreed.

 _Uh oh_.

***

If this were any other day and the circumstances would have been different, then Ros Myers might have thoroughly enjoyed the look of absolute horror that appeared on Nicholas Blake’s face when Harry informed him that there was in fact such a thing like a magical portal to another age and no, he wasn’t telling him where this portal was to be found, pre-empting the protest that the Home Secretary currently didn’t seem capable of making. He was at the moment demonstrating his best fish on dry land imitation, trying and failing to wrap his head around the information Harry had just provided him with.

When at first the Home Secretary and Richard Dolby had been briefed on the existence of Merlin and Arthur, the two men had reacted almost in the exact same fashion, until in the end the former had asked if there was some truth in the belief in reincarnation after all. Deciding that this was the best they were going to get, Harry had been quick to assure them this was the case. After all, reincarnation was something quite a lot of ordinary, officially qualified sane people believed in. It was far-fetched – not to mention completely ridiculous, in Ros’s humble opinion – but in the absence of any other reasonable explanation that was the story they had sold to the few people who needed to know about it. In fact, the list wasn’t longer than just the aforementioned two gentlemen, and there were more people who knew the actual truth rather than the story, but that was beside the point. And as far as Ros was concerned, Dollophead Dolby never even needed to know the truth. As it was, she wasn’t sure his tiny brain could handle it. It already seemed to have melted from realising Connie had been a mole for the FSB.

Not that Nicholas Blake seemed to be dealing with the news any better. And yes, she would have laughed at his face – well, probably she would have smirked at it more like – if she had been here for any other reason than the reason she was here today. As it was, her shoulder was sore as hell, her well of patience was rapidly running dry and she was out of her mind with worry over Jo. Of course, because she was Ros Myers she would never ever admit to any of those three things out loud, although if the Home Secretary insisted on playing at being a goldfish in a suit for much longer, he might very easily find himself on the receiving end of her lack of patience.

It was as if Harry read her mind. ‘Home Secretary, I know that this is a lot to take in…’ he began pleasantly.

 _Understatement of the century_ , Ros thought, recalling with perfect clarity her own reaction when Lucas had first coined the idea that Merlin’s claims to being a sorcerer were not as untruthful as she had thought them to be.

Apparently the trick to snap the politician out of his state of confusion – not something the public would ever get to see, she’d wager – was to talk to him, because that gave him something to rail against. ‘Harry, you can’t possibly mean that?’ Not all that back to normal then, if he phrased this as a question rather than to dismiss it as complete and utter nonsense. ‘There is no such thing as magic. It just doesn’t exist.’

And what a nasty surprise it had been to find out that it did just that. She plastered her sweetest smile on her face, the one she saved for politicians that were in dire need of being pacified. ‘I’m afraid it’s true, Home Secretary. If you want, we can call Merlin here for a demonstration. It won’t be any trouble.’

It would be, though. They only had one advantage in this whole conflict, and that was Merlin’s magic. At least for now it seemed like he was magically more powerful than that traitorous Druid, and something told Ros they would need that before this operation was over and done with. The last thing they wanted was to get him away from really important work to show Blake that they weren’t lying.

But then, she more or less counted on him not wanting to see the confirmation for their claims in the flesh. The look of pure and unadulterated terror that flashed across his face before he schooled it back into one of indignant dismissal escaped neither Harry nor Ros’s notion. ‘Even if this is true,’ he said. ‘And I cannot say that I am ready to believe in something so ludicrous, Harry, then why have you come here to tell me about it? Why now?’ The expression he put on display now told Ros that he strongly suspected to be showered in more bad news.

And Harry didn’t disappoint. Ros let him take care of this part. Her boss had years and years of experience in dealing with the species known as politicians, and knew exactly what to say in order for them not to explode or suffer a heart attack, although in this case it was a very close case, on both fronts. Harry himself remained perfectly calm and business-like as he detailed Arthur and Merlin’s latest visit, the presence of Mordred and his betrayal and assassination attempts during the Sugarhorse crisis.

At this point the Home Secretary narrowed his eyes. ‘As unfortunate as this is, what has it got to do with your section? You do realise that you are tasked with the national security of Britain, not with protecting the life of the king of a bygone age?’

‘Yes, Home Secretary, we know that,’ Ros interjected, face hopefully an unreadable mask. Dear heavens, did she hate to be here. But Harry had been right about the need to go and offer at least some kind of explanation, because it wasn’t as if they had carte blanche to do whatever they deemed necessary for the national security without consulting with the powers that be. A necessary evil, Harry called it. ‘But Mordred’s vendetta is not directed at King Arthur only.’ It felt a bit strange to use Arthur’s title when she had never bothered with it before, but then, no one in this day and age had ever acknowledged him as king over anything, so where was the need? ‘We believe him to be an associate of Morgana’s, and we have solid evidence to support that.’ They hadn’t, but it was a necessary lie. Besides, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before. ‘At the moment he is on a mission to take his revenge for the death of his late friend.’

She gave the Home secretary a few seconds to connect the dots for himself. It would be so much easier if she didn’t have to spell it all out for him. Today of all days she simply did not have the patience for it. All she wanted was to get going as soon as she could, injured shoulder be damned. She had lost one member of her team already by not being careful enough – or rather, not being wary enough – and she was loath to lose another in the same week. In the privacy of her own mind she kept up a constant stream of curses directed at the person of the warlock stupid enough to against all orders leave her on her own. True, she herself had never believed Jo to be much of a target, but she still blamed Merlin for not being more alert. Even if he had so much trouble actually obeying orders – as she knew he had – he should have been more alert. He knew who they were dealing with, had suspected a long time ago that Mordred was not all that he pretended to be, so why in heaven’s name had he not been more on his guard, as he ought to have been?  
And she was right to heap the blame on his doorstep. Ros knew that. But she wasn’t right to burden him with all of it, because she herself had underestimated what Mordred was capable of. And it was her bloody job to second-guess terrorists and take steps to prevent them causing mayhem before it happened. Even with all those years of experience under her belt, she had still failed to anticipate what had happened. It was just that blaming someone else for everything that went wrong was easier.

‘What are you telling me, Miss Myers?’ When the Home Secretary found his tongue again, it was only to question her sharply with it. There was every chance that he knew in which direction this conversation was headed, and he didn’t like it at all.

‘We believe Mordred to be picking off the persons he holds responsible for Morgana’s life, and now it seems as though he’s holding the whole of Section D responsible, and punishable, for that,’ she replied, wondering how to break the news of Jo’s abduction – to Camelot no less – without having a good cause for phoning an ambulance within the next minute.

Harry however had no such considerations. His patience, like hers, was wearing notoriously thin, if that look was any indication at all, and quite likely he was done with beating around the bloody bush. Well, it wasn’t as if their story was going to sound any more plausible anyway. As it was, it was only going to sound even less plausible than it already was. Good grief, if she hadn’t been living the whole sodding thing for the past few days, she would have directed the narrator to the nearest mental asylum herself.

‘This morning one of my officers was taken from her house,’ he reported. ‘My team have a good few leads we can follow up considering her whereabouts, and I am asking you for permission to do so.’ Well, judging by his tone of voice he was more demanding than asking, and this visit was only a courtesy. Ros knew her boss; even if he was told no, he would do what he thought needed to be done regardless. She was the same.

Of course she had been told countless times that Section D didn’t do rescue missions for its own personnel, not when there were more important things to be done, like dealing with the very pissed off FSB and the Russian government, which for all she knew was equally pissed off. But Harry wouldn’t have decided to go in all guns blazing on this if he had not been absolutely certain that the Russians would not bother them. He may care about his team, and go to hell and back for each and every one of them if the need arose, but he was also a spook, and he would put the job before his team if he had to. Ros knew the feeling; as protective as she was of all of them – even if she’d rather die than admit to that – it was in the nature of this line of work that Queen and Country came first. She didn’t know what exactly Harry had threatened the Russians with, though, but it would have been good. Not that she was about to ask him about it. He hadn’t felt up to sharing, and she had better things to concern herself with at the moment.

Like a Home Secretary who was looking like he had trouble keeping up with it all. It was an improvement that he didn’t act like the fish flung out of its pond anymore, but that didn’t mean he had quite completed the process of wrapping his head around recent developments. It could mean that he was going to be very difficult about this or it could mean that he was going to be so confused that he gave in quickly. Ros wouldn’t bet any money on that last option though.

And she was right. The next questions he fired at Harry – not her, he always seemed somewhat nervous when dealing with her, although Ros rather liked to think she had seen something that looked like admiration for her in his dealings with her – were either demands for some more explanation or barely concealed pleas for this to be the biggest joke ever played on him. Well, in that case Ros had bad news for him.

Harry was sparse with the facts, detailing as little as he could, rather sticking to the general line than explaining everything. He mentioned the need to relocate to Camelot to search – at which point the Home Secretary seemed to be choking on his own tongue – but otherwise remained as vague as he could get away with.

Even though, Ros started to wish he’d hurry up a bit. From where she was seated she could see the clock on the wall, ticking the minutes away. They’d been here for nearly an hour already, and they were wasting time. Mordred would probably keep Jo alive to lure them to a place of his choosing, but that was only true if they had correctly guessed his motives. For all they knew he could be a psychopath who killed his victims and was done with it. She might be already be dead. It didn’t make Ros sit any more comfortable.

She diverted her attention back to the conversation, guiltily realising that her thoughts had strayed quite a bit, when the Home Secretary pointedly reminded Harry that they didn’t do full-scale rescue missions for MI-5 personnel.

‘With all due respect, Home Secretary,’ Ros cut in, feeling anything but respect for this man who was being so deliberately obstructive. Truth be told, Nicholas Blake wasn’t a bad sort usually, but these last few days were making her rethink her initial assessment. After all, he had been okay with Harry being locked up as an FSB mole. That didn’t convince her of his intelligence. ‘Mordred has declared a personal vendetta against all of Section D.’ It wasn’t as if Harry had not told him already, but apparently the message hadn’t landed before, thus implying the need to repeat it. ‘Which means that he’ll compromise the entire counter-terrorism unit, leaving Britain vulnerable for attacks.’ Really, a toddler could have pieced it together. It wasn’t that hard to get, was it?

 _Oh, well done, Myers_ , she thought as he directed his gaze at her. She didn’t think he was even anywhere near buying her story. Well, he didn’t need to buy it – for all she cared he could continue on existing as if this was all a load of nonsense – as long as he wouldn’t obstruct them any longer.

‘Tell me, Miss Myers, even if this is all true,’ _I don’t believe a single word of this_ , Ros translated, ‘only yesterday we were in the middle of a crisis involving the Russians.’

‘We were,’ Ros said. She had a very good idea of where this was going.

‘Is that situation under control?’

Ros Myers had not been in the Service for so many years without a very good reason. Even though she had no idea whether or not she was actually telling the truth or not, she plastered her sweetest and most convincing smile on her face as she replied: ‘Completely, Home Secretary.’

It had taken them an hour, but at least it seemed like they had won around. _One down, God knows how many still to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, so very sorry about the long wait. Life is still pretty chaotic here, so it might be slow going for some time to come, but I have certainly not abandoned this story.  
> Next time: the search is on, but tempers are short. Please review?


	26. Chapter 26

Lucas didn’t think that he would ever really get used to the feeling of being in one place the next second and then turn up in another the next. Well, really that was not all that bad, if only it wouldn’t involve being transported in some kind of whirlwind that did things to his stomach that made him feel a little queasy.

And, by the look of things, someone was rather displeased to see him. Merlin had transported Arthur and him into a small room that he could not remember being in the last time he had been here, but he knew the occupant, an elderly man with grey hair who had been in the process of stirring in a bowl with an undefined substance. Gaius, his memory provided. He was the court physician, the one who had treated him after he’d been rescued from Morgana’s hovel.

‘Merlin!’ he exclaimed at a volume probably audible at the other side of the castle. ‘What are you doing!’

‘Emergency,’ the warlock replied, moving his feet uncomfortably. ‘I wouldn’t have done it if there had been time to take the long way.’

‘And how exactly did you think to explain their sudden presence in Camelot?’ Gaius inquired, shooting very displeased glances in the general direction of the two spooks accompanying his ward.

For just this once Ros refrained from commenting. Her face had a greenish shade and she clutched her stomach as if she was in danger of throwing up. Not that Lucas could blame her for that. Magical transport was a feeling you needed to get used to. It was very disorientating at first. Even after a few times he still felt faintly seasick.

‘Secret entrance,’ Merlin said without thinking. ‘There’s a secret network of tunnels running underneath the castle. That’s how we got in.’ He said all this without even batting an eye, betraying the fact that he had got a lot of experience in the art of telling lies. ‘We wouldn’t want Mordred to know we’re back here.’

That wasn’t such a bad explanation either. For all they knew the former soon-to-be knight was keeping a very close eye on the castle in case they were coming back here. It would help if he could be tricked into believing that they were still in London on a wild goose chase. Not that he thought that the deception would work for long, but at this point they would use whatever advantage they could get.

Gaius clearly didn’t approve of Merlin’s course of action, but at least he didn’t protest any more. ‘So, what will you do now that you’ve got them here?’

‘I’m going back to get Arthur and Harry,’ Merlin explained, a hint of his trademark smile on his face. It looked forced, though, and it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. The worry for Jo must have something to do with that. And he certainly wasn’t alone in that, Lucas thought wryly. If Mordred was anything like Morgana… He’d dread to think what could happen to her then. ‘They can do the explaining. Be back in a minute.’ He disappeared before Gaius had the time to comment or object, and by the look of things, he had been about to do both.

Nevertheless, his annoyance faded the moment Merlin had disappeared out of sight, and even though there were some mutterings about ‘that idiot boy,’ he complained with a half-smile on his face that was bordering on fond and affectionate.

‘Sit down,’ he invited. ‘You can’t be seen strolling around the castle until Merlin gets back with the rest of your team.’

 _The rest of your team_. It sounded wrong since it only included two other people now, and one of them was not even a true member of Section D. They were three men down. One dead, one imprisoned and one kidnapped. And of all the remaining team, four of them were the top of Mordred’s hit list. Well, of course there was Malcolm, but it had been decided that he would stay in London to keep an eye on the Russians. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to contribute anything to tracking down Mordred in these medieval times.

Ros had stumbled over to the nearest available surface she could find, a stool standing near the physician’s work bench. In any other situation Lucas would have laughed at her for suffering from seasickness, and then teased her mercilessly about it for weeks, taking her death glares for granted, making it up with a cup of coffee.

‘I’ll get you a potion,’ Gaius said to her, quite coolly. His relationship with Ros had always been strained. Lucas had been unconscious for that part, but he’d heard from Arthur that the Section Chief had driven him to distractions with her demands for answers. That unsurprisingly hadn’t warmed Gaius to her. But then, unless you got to know Ros a bit better, unless you managed to work your way past that mask of hers, she was a unlikeable person who certainly didn’t care about all the hurt feelings of the people she insulted. ‘To settle your stomach.’

‘Thanks,’ Ros grumbled, which was further than her gratefulness usually went. That was telling about how bad she felt. It would also explain why she hadn’t yet opened her mouth to cut Gaius down to size.

The physician nodded at Lucas, and he managed a small smile in return. The transporting hadn’t done his injury any favours, but he could manage. The bullet had only grazed his side, and it had been more the blood loss slowing him down than anything else. The pain was manageable. He’d had far worse. Ros on the other hand looked dead on her feet. She’d had a bullet through the shoulder, Lucas knew for a fact that she hadn’t slept any better than he had and it was obvious that transporting didn’t agree with her.

He did a few steps away and pretended to be busy checking the messages on his phone. There was something a little awkward being in a relatively small and enclosed space with the man who had probably saved his life, but who had seen him at his worst. It had been a vulnerable position to be in, and the awkwardness wasn’t lessened by the fact that they’d hardly spoken a word since.

Fortunately for him he had distraction ready at hand when the door slammed open and Gwaine swaggered – there really wasn’t any other word for how the knight moved – in, keeping a strip of cloth wrapped around his arm. Not that it seemed to bother him very much at all, since he had that trademark goofy smile plastered all over his face. He was one of the few people in Camelot who actually knew about Merlin’s magic and who had been delighted to find out; according to Merlin himself he kept insisting to use it for childish pranks.

He perked up when he caught sight of the room’s occupants. ‘Lucas!’ he exclaimed happily. ‘Good to see you. Merlin brought you here.’

Lucas managed a smile in return. ‘He did.’ Gwaine’s enthusiasm was difficult to deal with at times. The friendship was more or less one-sided for that reason, something the knight either didn’t notice or didn’t care about.

‘And Lady Rosalind. You are a sight for sore eyes,’ Gwaine continued.

‘If only that feeling could be mutual,’ Ros muttered. She, unlike Lucas, had no patience for him, or his flirting attempts, whatsoever, today even less than usual. Her cheeks had a bit more colour and she had drained the contents of the mug Gaius had given her, but her mood had already been in the danger zone before they made the trip. Worry for her colleagues translated into snappiness with Ros, and if his previous experiences with her were anything to go on at all, she was pretty worried now. Lucas couldn’t fault her for that. He himself was hardly relaxed now.

Any more supposedly witty remarks Gwaine had to add were pre-empted by the arrival of the rest of the team, drawing his attention elsewhere, namely Merlin, who found himself on the receiving end of Gwaine’s compliments on having mastered transporting, plus the request if he could have a go. He however backed off when Arthur brought him back in line by mentioning the fact that Jo had gone missing and that they had more pressing business to attend to. Arthur hadn’t been aware of Gwaine’s knowledge of Merlin’s powers, and normally he would probably have dwelled on that longer than he did now, Lucas imagined. The king of Camelot didn’t like being kept in the dark after all. They had all heard his displeasure during Operation Camelot.

It all felt somewhat surreal to Lucas, all of this. Here he was, making his way towards the old makeshift Grid, now back in business, while Arthur assembled the council to make the announcement that Mordred had betrayed them and was now to be regarded as a highly dangerous enemy, and Merlin was tagging along for reasons unknown. He didn’t think it would be easy on Arthur to admit that he had made the wrong call concerning the Druid, but it might be even harder still to deal with the blow of the betrayal itself.

Harry had gone off to heaven knew where, leaving only Ros and Lucas in the dusty room. Ros had gratefully sunk down on the nearest available chair as soon as everyone else had left the room and there was no longer a need for her to pretend that she was perfectly all right when she was really not. Lucas supposed he should feel honoured that she didn’t feel like she needed to pretend for him as well, but he was hardly in an appreciating mood. On top of that Harry had walked out without leaving orders, and although he certainly was trained to make independent decisions, he didn’t have a clue about what to do. It wasn’t as if they could actually walk out of this castle on foot and start a search party of their own.

‘You should rest,’ he told Ros when she suddenly realised they were not supposed to sit back and do nothing while Jo was still not found. ‘Let that shoulder heal.’

True to expectations, she all but bit his head off for implying that she was not as fit as she wanted to be. ‘First Harry, now you!’ she complained. ‘Will you for heaven’s sake just stop fussing?’

At first Ros in a fit of temper had woken memories of interrogation sessions in Russia that he was trying his hardest to forget. He instinctively shied away from the harsh voice and the steel in her eyes, until he got to realise that Ros’s manners may be as pleasant as an FSB officer’s at times, but that she was made of different stuff entirely. Where her team was concerned, she’d go to extreme lengths to keep them safe. And he was on her team, so that meant he was safe.

It didn’t mean that she would appreciate his prodding or his interpretation of her snapping, but some things needed to be said all the same. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he reminded her, perching on a desk, sneezing as the dust entered his nostrils. No one had been here in quite some time. ‘You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. We haven’t got anything to reproach ourselves with.’ As he said it, he recalled saying the same thing to her after the market bombing. Well, he couldn’t help it that it was true in both cases, could he?

The sardonic half-smile that met his eyes was proof enough that Ros remembered it too. ‘Course we do,’ she disagreed. ‘The bastard put one over us.’

‘Then we’ll put one over him.’

He really hoped that sounded more confident than he felt. It had been less than a day since Jo had been taken, but Morgana hadn’t needed long to get to the bits that had him screaming in agony either. Of course the theory was that he would use Jo as bait to get to the rest of them, but there was also a possibility, that no one so far had even dared to mention, that he would use her as a source of information. Said information could then be used to get to Section D. He’d gotten enough experience in this job to think of the possible scenarios in a minute, with seconds to spare, and no doubt Ros could do the same. He’d bet a month’s salary that was what had put her in this foul mood. Her injury had nothing to do with any of it. That was just an inconvenience.

‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded suspiciously, as if she thought he had some piece of information only he was privy to, and he was holding out on her.

 _Because you are Ros Myers and you’d do just about anything to keep your team safe_. But she’d bite his head off if he said that, and really, the last thing he needed to do now was to load even more burdens on her injured shoulders. She wouldn’t thank him for that.

And so he settled for the second best reply. ‘Well, we do have the most powerful warlock of all time on our side,’ he pointed out. ‘And he seems rather intent on getting Jo back.’ To his own surprise, he had a bit more faith in Merlin these days. He didn’t think he’d ever could trust that man, not after all that had happened, but that had been before Moscow, that had been before they had realised that Mordred was not who he claimed to be, and they could not tell anyone about what they had found.

‘He isn’t the only one,’ Ros muttered under her breath. Lucas thought he could hear a touch of anger, as if he had insulted her by implying – even if he had meant to do no such thing – that she wasn’t just as hell-bent as Merlin was to get Jo back to safety. He knew he should not take this personally; there were days that no one could get it right with the Section Chief. But after the days he’d had, he really could not summon up any more patience for it. He’d reached the limit.

‘I’m going to see that librarian, ask for some maps we can use,’ he announced. No doubt he could get someone to fetch them for him, but right now he was glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs and get out of this dusty room. The wound in his side really didn’t appreciate the treatment, but he could handle that. Ros Myers in one of her foul moods, he could not, not right now anyway.

Still, as he looked back at his colleague, just before the door fell shut, he could see the slumped shoulders she would never have shown him if she knew he was watching, and he suddenly felt rather sorry for her.

***

It was a relief to get out of the council chamber, leaving the cacophony of voices behind. Normally Arthur Pendragon enjoyed the sounds, the noise. He liked having people around him, but not today, not when those voices were commenting on how he had been fooled by Mordred. Arthur hadn’t pointed out the obvious, that they themselves had been completely taken in by the Druid, that no one could have imagined him being anything less than kind and absolutely devoted to the king. No, because Arthur was the king, people expected him to have all kinds of very developed senses of detection, which should have realised immediately that Mordred was one of the bad guys. At that thought Arthur had very nearly snorted. It was Merlin who had those, not Arthur, certainly not Arthur.

And the critique was all that more difficult to handle because, like it or not, there was some truth to it. Arthur still maintained that based on the evidence of his own eyes, there was no way he could have come to any other conclusion about Mordred, but he could have listened to Merlin at least. It wasn’t as if his servant had not tried to tell him about the danger. It had been Arthur who refused to even hear him out, scandalised at the mere idea that Mordred was not as much of a friend to him as he pretended to be. He hadn’t listened, hadn’t paid attention to Merlin’s behaviour towards Mordred, and on the rare occasion that he had, then only to dismiss and condemn it.

And now it turned out that his servant had every right to have been so suspicious, and Arthur found this very hard, if not impossible, to handle. Could he even be trusted to assess people right after he had been fooled and betrayed so many times? Morgana, Agravaine, Mordred… He’d trusted those people and they had betrayed him. Who was to say he would make better decisions in the future? Who was he to think that he had what it took to be king at all?

He supposed he could find solace in the fact that his own father had been blind to Morgana’s faults in the same way Arthur had been, but that was hardly a fit excuse for his blindness in the cases of Agravaine and Mordred. And really, he should have known better than to think that there was no truth at all in prophecy by now.

His chamber was not as empty as he had hoped. Merlin was there, performing his normal duties. In fact, he was performing them way better than he usually did, and he wasn’t even using magic to do them, as Arthur had given him permission to do.

He lingered in the doorway. ‘Merlin, what are you doing?’ he demanded, a bit confused as to why he was even here instead of with the spooks, overseeing the magical part of the rescue mission. True, they wouldn’t leave today yet – there were too few hours of daylight left to be effective – but there were always preparations that could be made, and this was hardly the place to make them.

If he had blinked he would have missed how Merlin quickly donned that far too cheerful smile of his. Arthur had been fooled by that in the past, but nowadays he noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’d have thought that’d be obvious,’ he said. ‘What I’m always doing, cleaning up after you. It’s quite interesting, really. Even when you’re not there, your room still ends up in a state of chaos.’

On a normal day the distraction might have worked. Today however was not a normal day by any stretch of the imagination. ‘You should be with Ros and Lucas,’ he pointed out. He didn’t mention Harry. The head of Section D had been at the meeting, but had not returned to the makeshift Grid as far as Arthur was aware, instead opting on going with the knights to organise the search. ‘I thought you said you were going to take them with you tomorrow?’

‘We know where to go,’ Merlin said. The smile had vanished and the reply was clipped and short, almost in Ros Myers fashion.

‘You should get some rest,’ Arthur tried again, hoping for once to get Merlin out of his room by subtle means rather than to command him to get out, which was very unlikely to work anyway.

If Merlin understood the hint, then he chose to ignore it. ‘And leave you in this mess? You’d be complaining for weeks.’

If there was anything Arthur sometimes hated about his servant, apart from the secrecy and the lies, then it was his tendency to try and deflect subjects he didn’t want to discuss. He never said he didn’t want to talk about anything, which would have been better, all things considered. Instead he did… this. It was infuriating.

The only approach that left was to cut through the babbling and get to the heart of the matter. ‘Merlin, will you just get out!’ It was his most irritable king’s voice. He didn’t really think it’d have any effect at all, but at this point it was very much worth a try.

At least it succeeded in making his servant drop the – empty – bucket he was holding. Guilt flashed across his face. ‘I’ll… eh… I’ll go then.’

Arthur knew better by now than to think himself the brightest star in the sky, but he was fairly certain he knew where that guilt had come from, and it was more than sufficient to make him realise that Merlin had not heard Arthur’s desperate wish to be alone for a while. He had heard an accusation.

‘You’re not blaming yourself, are you, Merlin?’ he demanded sharply. Oh, how he wished he could be alone right now, but it seemed solitude would have to wait. ‘What happened to Jo was not your fault.’ Not entirely. Granted, Merlin should not have left her on her own, but if Arthur had realised the truth about Mordred sooner, as he should have done, then they would not be in this situation either. They would be dealing with angry Russians instead. Right now, he would take the Russians over this any time. At least they were somewhat predictable. With Mordred it was a guessing game. And his magic didn’t make things any easier either.

He supposed it was too much to hope for a straight answer; Merlin had been spending too much time with that dragon for that. ‘It’s Mordred’s fault,’ he replied without conviction. It is my fault, was what Arthur heard.

 _Oh, will you two for heaven’s sake just look at yourselves, wallowing in your guilt!_ Arthur could almost hear Ros’s voice, reprimanding him for what she surely believed to be a waste of time and effort. And quite frankly, she was right. It didn’t mean that he didn’t feel guilty, because he did, but it wouldn’t help them in getting Jo back.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘Mordred’s fault.’ This called for one very specific action, one of Arthur’s most hated, if he was being quite honest: admitting that he had made a mistake. ‘I should have listened to you,’ he confessed. It was one thing to admit it in the privacy of his own head, it was quite another to say it out loud. His father had never apologised in public for things he had done wrong. He was the king; he was above such things. That was what Uther had thought. It didn’t mean that he was right, but it was part of the legacy he’d left behind. ‘You were right about Mordred and I should have listened. I am sorry.’ Never had three words been harder to say. But sometimes needs must, and this was one such time.

And apparently it was so unexpected for Merlin to hear it that he stared at Arthur for a good few seconds before he even seemed anywhere near formulating a coherent reply. And then it was just more of his usual tactics. ‘Arthur Pendragon? Apologising? What has the world come to?’

‘It was necessary,’ he replied curtly. ‘Merlin, sit down.’

He wasn’t surprised when Merlin didn’t. Had he ever really obeyed any command given to him? If he had, then Arthur couldn’t remember the last time it happened.  
‘Merlin…’

‘You never say you’re sorry.’ The warlock seemed suspicious more than anything else. Was it really that rare that he was telling Merlin he had been smarter than Arthur. Yes, a little voice in the back of his mind answered immediately. Arthur squashed it.

‘It was right to say it, though.’ As the spies would say it, Arthur Pendragon was well and truly out of his comfort zone. And that had never done his mood any favours. ‘I was wrong, about a lot of things apparently. And I just don’t know how to deal with any of it. I don’t know what to do.’ He had no idea where that last bit had come from.

Or, actually, he did. He’d always had these moments, when the pressure was on and everyone was looking to him to make things right, that he confessed to Merlin just how uncertain he was, just how much he doubted his own ability to do what needed doing. Normally he hid his doubts behind a mask of arrogance and witty banter, except for when he was truly at his wit’s end. Like he was now.

It was only because moments like these hadn’t happened since Operation Camelot. Something had changed then. When all had been said and done, they’d had a talk and after that they had returned to their normal behaviour, as if those events had never even happened. Merlin had been allowed to practise his magic in private, they had bantered like they always had… To an outside onlooker it would seem as if nothing had changed.

But of course something had changed. The trust had gone, that unconditional, instinctive trust between them. They were walking on eggshells around one another, terrified that the smallest reference to past events would break the frail truce they had. Forced normalcy, Arthur believed it was. Merlin seemed very reluctant to really show Arthur his magic and Arthur in turn had stopped confiding in Merlin about the things that weighed heavily on his mind.

And he missed that. Of course there was Guinevere, always supportive, always there when he needed her, but she wasn’t Merlin. She didn’t insult him to shake him out of one of his moods, she never raised her voice, she didn’t use that special brand of sarcasm. And as much as Arthur needed her gentle support, he needed all those other things too.  
But here he was, trusting Merlin with his deepest thoughts, the ones he couldn’t utter to anyone else because the king could not be seen doubting his own commands, as if nothing had ever changed. And it felt right.

Maybe Merlin sensed that. He was in general quicker to cotton on after all. A smile, a real and genuine smile, lit up his face, his entire face. ‘Well, you’re Arthur Pendragon, officially qualified clotpole, nominated dollophead. You’ll do what you always do.’ It was the mocking, the banter that was normal for them, but it was real this time.  
‘  
And what is that, Merlin?’ he questioned, trying in vain to stop the corners of his mouth curling up in a relieved – relieved, why relieved? It wasn’t as if he had been nervous, not at all – smile.

‘You’ll pretend to know what you’re doing and everything will work out.’ Merlin appeared to be very pleased with his solution-that-wasn’t-a-solution-at-all.

‘You mean that I get the credit and you’ll do all the work behind the scenes,’ Arthur translated. They were out of banter territory now, back to the serious business. They were having the sort of talk they should have had after Operation Camelot, he reflected. And of course they were not having that conversation during a time of peace and stability. No, instead they were having it with one of the biggest threats they’d ever encountered looming over their heads.

‘Well, that is my job.’ The smile was still on his face, but it had left his eyes.

‘Not the behind the scenes part,’ Arthur argued. ‘It isn’t fair.’ He didn’t think he’d ever said those words again after he’d been refused a second helping of roasted chicken at six years of age.

‘It’s useful,’ Merlin said.

‘Your secret isn’t going to last forever,’ he pointed out.

Arthur was not even entirely sure what he was getting at, only that what he was about to do was probably going to cause riots and chaos at some point. He meant what he said, though. Yes, he still distrusted magic, and the people who used it – he’d seen too much of the bad of it not to – but this was Merlin. He couldn’t even recall one single time that Merlin’s magic had endangered his life or the lives of his friends.

To his surprise Merlin didn’t look pleased. Quite the contrary; he looked properly horrified. ‘We can’t tell them.’ Them were not specified, but Arthur took it to mean everyone who didn’t already know about him. ‘Not now!’

Reason told Arthur that would indeed be a very bad idea. On the other hand, though, all of a sudden he was rather fed up with all of the secrecy. That had been what had caused the fallout in the first place, lies and secrecy. ‘We’ll need your magic,’ he reminded the warlock. There was a very vivid image in his mind, of Merlin fighting off Mordred in the tunnels underneath London.

Merlin literally staggered back. ‘I can’t. Not where everyone can see it.’

‘Not where everyone can see it.’ Arthur hated it when Merlin was being the sensible one. And this still wasn’t turning out to be the conversation that solved everything, as he had secretly hoped it would turn out to be. Maybe conversations like that just didn’t happen. No quick solutions readily available. ‘But you can do what you always do,’ he added.  
The smile was back, not full force, but back all the same, even if it was still laced with worry. ‘Of course. You wouldn’t be able to last a day without it.’

Arthur very much objected against that kind of thought. But since telling Merlin to just shut up about it was going to be just as effective as telling Gwaine to lay off the ale for the rest of his life, he settled for the second best approach. ‘But, Merlin, if it’s a life or death situation, I don’t care who sees it, I order you to use your magic.’

He didn’t think he imagined the unadulterated terror on Merlin’s face when he finally obeyed Arthur’s initial order to get out of his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time the search really begins. Sorry about the delay.


	27. Chapter 27

It wasn’t even light yet when Ros entered the Grid, or what was supposed to pass for one anyway. Malcolm had installed computers last time they were here, but they’d had to make them run on batteries and some of Merlin’s magic and quite frankly that was a lot of effort. They’d only put the surveillance equipment on and left it at that. But she missed the reassuring humming of computers when she came in and for her in only emphasised the feeling of _not home_. The fact that she had to create light by making a fire and lighting some candles didn’t exactly help either.

She was the first one in. The others were all still doing the sensible thing: sleeping. It had been a tiring few days and she could use her rest. Ros knew that only too well. Sadly her body and mind had conspired against her and so she had only been able to lie on her back, staring at the ceiling as her mind provided a constant stream of worst case scenarios, effectively preventing her from calming down enough to fall asleep.

It didn’t help that she felt like she was wasting precious time. In London she would simply have pulled an all-nighter and hope that by the end of it they would have Jo safely back with them. In Camelot it didn’t work like that. Over here the night was meant for sleeping and, in Gwaine’s case, visits to the pub. When it was dark they couldn’t search all that effectively, not the way she was used to anyway. And it was frustrating. It went against the grain to sit here and just wait while she knew her colleague was in danger. And she would be in danger, with Mordred holding her captive. If that Druid was anything like Morgana – and all the evidence currently indicated that – then she was going through hell right now. And Jo didn’t handle these situations well. Ros hadn’t exactly been there when Jo had been taken by the Redbacks, but she had been there to see the aftermath. And it wasn’t pretty.

Still, she knew Arthur was going in all guns blazing and, truth be told, the knights had been the school example of helpful. She’d briefed them yesterday, detailing the events and what they expected had happened since. They had come up with suggestions and advice, but still she had found herself increasingly annoyed with them for reasons she couldn’t quite name at the time. Looking back on it though, she suspected that she just resented them for not having the resources she was used to working with. It was slowing them down and time was precious. They also had wasted a good chunk of it already.

The door opened, but Ros didn’t turn to look. She knew who it was anyway. It wasn’t as if she was the only insomniac in the castle right now.

‘Couldn’t sleep either?’ the familiar voice asked.

We’re wasting time,’ she replied curtly, not deeming that question worthy of an answer. Had he honestly expected her to get some rest with everything that was going on?

‘Well, it will be light in about two hours,’ Lucas pointed out. Ever since they had arrived here he had felt the need to play the optimist and it grated on Ros’s every last nerve. This wasn’t the time to start being a little ray of sunshine, especially when he was only trying to be optimistic for her benefit. She rather doubted that he really thought everything was going to be fine; he had sampled Morgana’s hospitality for himself after all, and Mordred had been her best friend.

‘Another two hours wasted,’ she pointed out. Bloody Dark Ages, bloody Camelot and bloody knights. Gwaine had demonstrated the same amount of cheerfulness yesterday and his massive ego had prevented any of her scathing remarks from hitting home.

‘Brought you coffee,’ Lucas offered, walking over to her and extending a mug, the steaming contents of which smelled a lot like her favourite brew.

 _I could kiss you right now_. ‘How did you get coffee in this place?’ she demanded.

He smiled that well-known grin of his. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly get it in this place,’ he pointed out. ‘I raided Harry’s private stash before we left. I know what you’re like when you don’t get your morning fix.’

Ros snorted. ‘You make it sound like I’m an addict.’ She accepted the cup all the same. With everything that was going on, coffee was really at the bottom of her list of priorities, but it was a small consolation. And even though she wasn’t about to admit it anytime soon, she could have murdered for a good coffee right about now. He must have read her mind.

‘I do my part in keeping you annoyed,’ he retorted. ‘I’ve heard from a reliable source that’s what friends are for.’

He almost made her smile, and this really wasn’t the time for any of that. ‘Then why do you bring me coffee if you want me annoyed?’ she questioned in spite of herself.

‘There’s a limit to how much of your irritation I can take,’ he replied easily, but Ros suspected that wasn’t all there was to it. Yesterday she may have gone too far, just lashing out at whoever was closest. The knights had taken the brunt of it, but Lucas had been in the line of fire for a good portion of it as well, and it wouldn’t have been pleasant. But apologising wasn’t something that came natural to her, and they both knew that. She didn’t even think that he was really expecting an apology.

‘I’ll save the rest of it for Gwaine,’ she therefore promised, which would have to do.

‘I’m sure he’d love that,’ Lucas grinned. Knowing Gwaine, he would only take it as a joke.

Ros didn’t answer. Instead she sipped her drink and simply enjoyed the taste of it in her mouth. It didn’t do anything to quell the impatience, but there wasn’t anything she could do right now, except wait. The search party would leave at first light and not any sooner. And there was sense in that. With the resources they had it would be the height of folly to go into the woods surrounding Camelot, especially since they were home to a lot of unsavoury characters that were best avoided.

Still, they weren’t the only early birds. Ros didn’t think more than ten minutes had passed when the door opened to let in Merlin. The warlock looked like he hadn’t slept a wink either, but there was excitement on his face and a bounce to his step that felt wholly inappropriate under the given circumstances.

‘Help yourself to coffee,’ Lucas invited after they had exchanged the customary good morning greeting. Ros had refrained from doing the same. It wasn’t a good morning to her and she doubted that it would be, no matter how many people wished it. ‘There’s still a bit left. Harry’s private stash.’

Merlin nodded appreciatively. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’ll be coming with us then?’ Lucas asked. ‘Or are you going off on your own?’ They’d heard something about the Isle of the Blessed, but that had been kept out of the official briefing yesterday. Some of the knights still remembered their last trip to that destination and weren’t all that eager for a trip down memory lane. Not that Ros could really blame them for that; she wasn’t champing at the bit either.

‘Well, I was rather hoping you two would want to come with me,’ Merlin said, avoiding their eyes as he laid his plan on the table. ‘I’m going to have a look around the known Druid camps and see what I can find out about Mordred, and then I thought I could have a look at Morgana’s old hide-outs and see what comes up.’

Ros narrowed her eyes at him. She wouldn’t be as childish as to whine about his preferred method of transport and the effect it had on her stomach, but she hadn’t exactly expected that he would want her with him on that trip. It hadn’t really been discussed, but the people who needed to know knew that Merlin was likely to go off on his own to search a few likely places without prying eyes looking over his shoulder. He didn’t need the knights, what with magic at his disposal, and Ros had just assumed that he would go alone. The last thing she expected was for him to actually ask Lucas and her to join him. Lucas, yes, that would make sense. They had been… well, not as thick as thieves, but they had been close since they had discovered that Mordred was having an agenda of his own. She on the other hand had never gotten along with Arthur’s servant very well, and after the scolding she’d given him only yesterday, she’d have thought he would give her a wide berth for a while. Apparently not.

That didn’t mean she liked the proposition. There had to be some ulterior motives there. ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll drop down of blood loss?’ He had made rather a fuss about her shoulder when she had first been shot after all.

Merlin seemed mildly offended at her tone of voice. ‘Should I?’ The words in combination with that tone indicated that he had spent way too much time hanging around her, something Ros disliked for multiple reasons.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Why do you want me to come?’ It hadn’t escaped her notice that he hadn’t actually answered that question.

‘You could help,’ Merlin said, which didn’t count as an answer in Ros’s opinion at all.

‘Yes, but why?’ she questioned again. ‘We both know you avoid me if only given the chance, which is fine, because I don’t particularly enjoy your company either.’ And even less so after his enormous stupidity of letting Jo out of his sight, even when he had strict orders not to do so. This whole situation basically was his fault, intentionally or not.

Well, she had rattled him now. ‘You do know how to shoot a gun,’ he admitted.

Ah, now she had gotten to the heart of the matter. She knew of Merlin’s troubles killing and injuring people, so he brought someone who he was certain could do what he could not. While rather sound reasoning, Ros didn’t like the sound of it one bit, because what did that make of her? Was she just the one to shoot people when it was convenient, so that he could remain on his precious moral high ground? While that may very well be the impression she had given off on a fair amount of occasions, that was _not_ who she was. Did he really see her as a gun-happy woman intent on shooting each and every unsavoury character that crossed her path? True, she didn’t have much reservations about pulling the trigger, especially not when there were lives on the line that depended on her ability to do what was necessary. But she wasn’t some kind of assassin. She was a spy, which was something else entirely. But then, shooting Morgana the way she had may have just given Merlin the wrong impression.

It didn’t mean she had to like his view of her.

‘So you think I’m just coming along to shoot your bloody enemies for you?’ she summarised, daring him to contradict her.

‘What? No!’ Merlin looked rather horrified at hearing that, and Lucas had done a few steps back to stay well out of this potential minefield. ‘I just thought… I meant that I thought that you might want to come along, because you’re worried for Jo and I don’t think there’s much chance that the knights are actually going to find her. They’re good, but I don’t think Mordred has hidden Jo somewhere near Camelot, so there’s much more chance that we’ll find her where we’re going.’ _Because she is the bait and we’re the intended target_ went unspoken. It didn’t actually need saying.

Ros supposed she should really snap at him for leading all three of them into a supposed trap, but she felt strangely touched by his talk about wanting Jo to be safe as well. And Merlin wasn’t one for guile in general, so she may even have to assume that he really meant it.

‘Then why bring up the gun?’ she asked sharply. Probably he had done that with the Isle of the Blessed still in his mind, which told her all she really needed to know about what he really thought about her. And that was information she could have done without.

Merlin responded to that question in true Merlin fashion: by avoiding it with as wide a smile as he could manage. ‘I figured out a way to heal your shoulder,’ he announced. ‘Well, I _think_ I found a way. Took me all night poring over old books, but I think I found a spell.’ And that would explain the dark rings under his eyes.

Ros wasn’t planning on being distracted, but the news that there might actually be a cure for that thrice-cursed slowing-her-down injury of hers was really welcome news. It was hard to blame Arthur for being so easily side-tracked by his servant whenever said servant felt like it, when she herself was apparently just as much of an easy target. ‘You _think_ you found a spell?’ she echoed sceptically. Merlin’s plans weren’t all that fool proof as a rule and she wasn’t sure how much faith she had in his magical abilities quite yet, but if she was to go magically jumping across the kingdom – and hang on, when had she decided to take Merlin up on that offer? – she would very much like to do it without a shoulder that hurt at the slightest movement.

‘Well, there aren’t any bullet wounds in Camelot to test it on,’ Merlin pointed out. ‘But it’s safe.’ Did he really sound hopeful now?

 _So how did that spell end up in an old book?_ Ros wasn’t stupid, and she was fairly certain that he had just invented the book to cover up the fact that he had made the spell up. Still, he had stayed up all night just to think of a way to help her. Ros Myers didn’t do apologies, so maybe that was how she had come to recognise it when another extended the olive branch without actually apologising in words. Besides, she didn’t think she would have accepted a spoken apology if Merlin had given it to her. She’d have brushed it off if he had, she knew herself well enough to know that.

But she wasn’t exactly going to turn down a peace offering. She wasn’t in the position to. They still had a crisis to contain and she couldn’t use squabbling among themselves. ‘Go ahead,’ she ordered.

For a moment there Merlin looked like he couldn’t believe his luck, but then he did as he was told, extending his hand and muttering a couple of words that sounded like nonsense to Ros’s ears, but were probably a little bit more than that, given the effect it had. His eyes flashed – and that would really never not be strange – and then there was a tingling sensation where the injury was. Then, nothing. No pain, it just felt like it always did.

‘All better?’ Merlin asked, smile spreading so wide it almost split his face in half.

Ros resisted the urge to actually roll her eyes at him. ‘Make sure you do Lucas’s as well before we leave.’

***

This may not be the best idea he’d ever had, Merlin realised that full well. And there was a number of reasons why that was the case. First on the list was that he let Arthur go on his own. It went against every instinct he had to abandon Arthur to fend for himself when it was obviously that he could hardly make it through one day without Merlin’s assistance. The king of Camelot was a magnet for disaster of any kind, and this time it was actually confirmed that there was someone out there to kill him.

Merlin only rather hoped he would come after the bigger game. And if Mordred was watching Camelot, as he thought he was, then he was giving him a very big target by going out there with the two people whose heads Mordred would love to have if only given the chance. The three of them were the intended target. Arthur, for a change, wasn’t target number one. It would have made for a very nice change if the rest of the situation hadn’t been so precarious. Still, Arthur could get into all sorts of trouble on his own, even if there wasn’t anyone out to kill him, something Merlin knew only too well. But he had plenty of knights and a good sword to protect him and that should be sufficient for one day.

He didn’t think the purpose of today had passed Lucas and Ros by. They were spies after all; they made a living of lies and deceit, but neither of them had spoken a word. He had taken that as a silent confirmation that it was okay what he was doing, which was as much as he was probably going to get. Ros however didn’t like it. Oh, he didn’t think she particularly minded putting herself in the line of danger, and he didn’t think she was concerned for him either, but he had seen her shooting worried glances at Lucas whenever he wasn’t looking. And to be honest, Merlin more or less regretted taking him with them on their search.

The Druid camps hadn’t been all that bad. As soon as he mentioned the name Emrys the people were more than prepared to help and Lucas turned up the charm so that people _wanted_ to tell him what he needed to know. Ros hung back a bit, left them to do most of the talking there, while she just had a look around, noticing things.

Mordred had been seen on several occasions, the Druids told them, so their visits to the various Druid camps had not been a waste of time. But the bad news was that it was always so that the last they had seen of him was months in the past. And all they knew about his activities was that he was a good lad, eager to help and eager to please. One old woman had confided in them that she thought Mordred had a sweetheart he sometimes went to meet outside the boundaries of the encampment.

‘Bloody Morgana,’ Ros muttered under her breath when she heard that. Merlin agreed. He didn’t think Mordred had been seeing a sweetheart either. There wasn’t any proof that it really had been Morgana, but Lucas wryly remarked that in this line of work there often wasn’t all that much evidence to work with, more like a collection of dots that they had to arrange and connect correctly.

Other than that there wasn’t much to be learned from the Druids. There were three camps within Camelot’s boundaries and by lunchtime they’d visited them all.

'There are more in Cenred’s kingdom,’ Merlin said hesitantly.

‘He won’t have gone there,’ Lucas pointed out. ‘Not if he wants to trap us. Didn’t you say once that Druids are a peaceful people? I doubt they’d condone violence in their communities.’

He made a very good point. And really, Merlin didn’t think visiting more Druids was going to help them any further. No one had seen Mordred since the time that he had come to the castle of Camelot and no one seemed to suspect that “such a nice boy” could even dream of doing evil. Even with things being as they were, Merlin couldn’t have forced himself to bust their bubble. He’d only told them that Mordred had gone missing. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was not the entire truth either. It sounded far too much like something his friends from London would say. Maybe he had spent too much time with them lately.

Ros folded her arms across her chest. ‘Have you been leading us on a wild goose chase?’ she demanded. Patience had never been her strong suit, but he suspected that she was in immediate danger of running out of it altogether.

‘No!’ Merlin exclaimed hastily. He had a lot of experience with that tone of voice; Arthur had perfected it to an art after all the times he suspected that Merlin was having him on and the warlock had to come up with a quick explanation to satisfy him as to avoid ending up in the stocks, again. He had a feeling though that Ros Myers was less likely to buy his explanation.

But he meant what he said; he wasn’t leading them on a wild goose chase. What he’d really been doing was something far nastier: he was hoping that word would get out that he was visiting Druids and Mordred would come to get them while they were gallivanting around the encampments. When they had set out this morning, he had good hope that somewhere among the Druid people there would be some friend of Mordred’s who’d inform him; there were rotten apples on almost every tree. And then Mordred would come to them and he’d be able to… deal with him.

For whatever reason this had not worked out. Maybe Mordred didn’t have allies or maybe he didn’t want to meet his intended victims on their terms. Merlin didn’t know and it didn’t actually matter.

‘I really thought that he might have told some people where he’d go, because he’s been a Druid for so long and he would have had friends among them.’ Not all that strange an assumption, because Mordred had friends here. They just didn’t have a clue where he’d disappeared off to. Most of them hadn’t even known he’d gone to Camelot in the first place.

‘You mentioned some of Morgana’s old hide-outs?’ Lucas interjected before Ros got the chance to give her best Harry in a foul mood imitation.

Merlin grimaced. ‘Well, there’s only really just the two.’ Lucas had been to both and neither would provoke any pleasant memories. But that went without saying. ‘We could try her hovel first?’

‘Take us there.’ To his surprise it was Lucas who gave the order. He’d even seen Ros not-quite-flinching at the mention of it, and she wasn’t the one who had nightmares about that place. Not that he strictly speaking knew for certain that Lucas did, but if he had been in his place, well, he wouldn’t have slept well for months.

He did as he was told, landing them a little distance away from Morgana’s old home. The forest was silent around them, way too silent really. It was the kind of silence that felt like everyone was just collectively holding their breath before the storm hit. There weren’t any animals, any birds. There wasn’t even any wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. Nothing was moving.

‘Has a bit of a horror movie feel to it, doesn’t it?’ Ros remarked casually. Merlin wasn’t fooled though; her hand was hovering close to her gun.

Merlin quickly looked ahead before she caught him looking at the weapon. His mentioning that she didn’t have any reservations about using it had clearly rubbed her up the wrong way. Yet he had meant it as a compliment. He didn’t really think it a weakness of himself that he hated to injure and kill people, even when a situation required it, but it could be an inconvenience. More so, it could be a liability when innocent lives depended on it, and Ros wasn’t the kind of person to make such a lapse of judgement. That was the message he had been trying to convey, but clearly that was not the message she had heard, although it remained a mystery what it _was_ that she thought he’d been trying to say. Maybe he should just lay off trying to compliment Ros Myers in the future.

‘If Mordred is here, then he does have a feel of theatrics,’ Lucas agreed, flashing a wicked grin at his colleague. ‘Do you think Morgana ever took him to the cinema while they were in London?’

Ros joined in the banter. ‘Well, she did seem like an action movie kind of girl. Who knows, maybe Hogan took her on a date.’

Merlin tried to banish that image from his mind.

‘If she went with Mordred, though, shouldn’t she have taken him to some Disney movie? Kid friendly and all that nonsense?’ Ros went on.

Merlin knew what this was. Arthur and he could banter on and on in order to avoid discussing the more unpleasant topics. That was why they were always insulting one another when things got dangerous, to alleviate the tension in the air. Not that it ever really worked – the crisis was still there when they finally decided to address the matter – but it sometimes made it that tiny bit easier to bear. And they needed that. Well, more correctly, Lucas needed that. He was laughing and exchanging witticisms with Ros, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes and his hands were shoved down the pockets of his jacket, no doubt clenched into fists.

‘Shall we?’ he invited. They needed to do this and waiting here would not help them.

He didn’t really think that Jo was somewhere in there – although he certainly was _hoping_ – but Mordred may be. The longer they were on this search, the more he started to doubt their chances of success. Back in the meeting room in Thames House, it had all sounded so logical, Mordred trying to bait them by taking Jo. All they had to do was find the right place, and that shouldn’t be so hard, since they reckoned that he _wanted_ to be found. But Mordred had turned out to be quite evasive. What if his plan was something far more elaborate than any of them had this far anticipated?

Still, that hovel was an important place. Morgana had lived here, and Mordred might have visited her here. It wasn’t all that far from the last Druid camp they’d gone to. And it was one of the places where Morgana had been sort of defeated. It was a significant place, in the way the barn had been, and that was where Mordred left the phone. So he did have some love of theatrics.

Nothing happened as they walked over to the door. ‘After you,’ Ros offered, gesturing at the closed door. Merlin couldn’t remember if that was how they had left it when they left after they had freed Lucas, but then, the events of that day were all a bit of a blur now and he had more important things on his mind then.

‘ _Tospringe_ ,’ he muttered, and true to expectations the door opened. It was a good thing that it opened inwards, he reflected as he softly kicked it open. It meant that he could stay here and watch before he stepped foot over the threshold. Or not. Apparently that gentle push was too much abuse on the old battered thing already, because it came crashing down in a cloud of dust and cobwebs. All he could do was to step back and sneeze as if his life depended on it, and his temporary colleagues weren’t any better off.

It was only when the dust began to settle that he got a chance to really look inside. He hadn’t heard a sound coming from in there apart from the door when it fell, and it certainly looked abandoned. In fact, it looked as if the whole place was only seconds away from following the front door’s example. This place had fallen into disrepair after Morgana had left, and it hadn’t been in a good state even before that.

‘I’ll go first?’ he proposed. ‘And then Ros can take the left side of the room and I’ll take the right. Lucas, could you be look-out?’

Matching murderous glances from both spooks informed him that they knew exactly what he was doing and neither of them approved of it.

‘Don’t you _dare_ mollycoddle me, Merlin,’ Lucas snapped, steel in his eyes. He pushed past the warlock and all but marched into the hovel, Ros following right behind, consequently leaving Merlin to enter last, which was definitely not how he had intended to do this. Whatever he did with them, it sometimes felt like it was impossible to get it right.

Either way, they left him little choice but to follow them inside. It was as he remembered it, a constant twilight and now not even a fire to chase the shadows and the chill away. A cold shiver went down his spine. To the right he could see the chains hanging from the ceiling. Lucas wasn’t the only one who had sampled the “delights” of those things; Merlin himself wasn’t in any danger of forgetting that he himself had been held prisoner here once. It was good to see that the chains were still broken from when he had used his magic to free Lucas.

All in all it didn’t look like anyone had been here after they had left the last time. Morgana had not been back here and apparently nobody else had been here either. Dust had accumulated. They were leaving footprints in it. Even the cupboard he had thrown over when he had magically flung Morgana against it was still lying on its side, contents either rolled to the far ends of the room or broken on the floor.

‘It’s empty,’ he said, not quite sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed. They still hadn’t found Jo, and time was ticking. On the other hand he would be glad to see the back of this place. He wouldn’t be the only one either; Lucas’s posture was so rigid that he might well have turned into a statue and Ros was glaring so fiercely at every piece of furniture she saw that it was almost a miracle this old house hadn’t fallen apart from the sheer force of it. It occurred to him that even though she had condemned him for trying to be kind to Lucas, she was doing the same thing, sending him off to inspect a completely useless cupboard near the door while she took care of the area where he had been kept prisoner.

‘Do you have to state the obvious?’ she snapped at him, not all that unexpectedly. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Lucas didn’t need to be told twice. He hadn’t really gone inside any further than he had to. It took him only three big strides to get back outside. Merlin was only too happy to follow his example, although he wasn’t very keen on leaving for their next destination. He had put it off deliberately, but with all the other places covered, he couldn’t exactly run away from this any longer.

He took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself. ‘There’s just one place we haven’t looked at.’

The Isle of the Blessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a visit to the Isle of the Blessed and we’ll be checking in with Arthur and the search party.  
> Reviews would be very much appreciated.


	28. Chapter 28

It was sunny. It was that which caught Lucas quite off guard. When he had first come to the Isle of the Blessed, the sun had been hidden by clouds and there was mist swirling around all over the place. In fact, it had been the stereotype of a place where bad things happened, like copied right out of a movie. Strange, he’d thought back then, but the longer he’d been here, the more he came to realise that actually it fit the island. It was the kind of place that wouldn’t feel right if the sun was shining on it.

Of course Ros was the only one not bothered. ‘Makes a change from last time,’ she remarked when they had landed. ‘Right, Merlin, you go left. Lucas and I go right.’

And Lucas didn’t like the sound of that. It was the porcelain doll treatment all over again. Merlin was to go off on his own, but he clearly needed twenty-four hour supervision, because he had Ros tailing after him. Before this all went down, it had seemed that everything was fine, back to normal. He had been given assignments, he had been allowed to take the risks they all did, and then Jo was kidnapped by Morgana’s old friend and they were checking out her old hide-outs, and suddenly it was as if no time at all had passed between Operation Camelot and now.

And honestly, this was not even the place that set his teeth on edge. The Isle of the Blessed held no traumatic memories for him. Yes, here was where he had confronted Morgana, but that was all there was to it. He had confronted her, and Ros had shot her. If anything, this was a place where they had triumphed. And yes, he had ordered Ros to shoot him as well as the witch, but that was one of the risks of the job.

If anything, it was Morgana’s hovel that had very nearly freaked him out. It had been exactly as he remembered it: dark, chilly and cramped. And it had been exactly as he had last seen it, apart from the fact that the little house clearly showed signs of a fight he did not remember. But his memory of his own rescue was blurry at best, and neither Merlin nor Ros had commented on it. It must have happened then. And even though Morgana wasn’t there, and he knew she was long since dead and burned, he somehow kept expecting her to jump out of the shadows to finish him off, like she could not have done when he was her prisoner. He had however refrained from mentioning this to Ros.

Speaking of which. ‘How well do you know this place?’ Ros asked briskly as they set off.

‘I walked here just the one time,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, but you’ve got photographic memory,’ she countered. ‘You’re my tour guide.’

Tour guide? Was that what it was now? ‘What about Merlin?’

‘He’s been here before.’ Ros sounded wholly unconcerned. ‘And he’s got his magic. He could cast a get-me-unlost-when-I-get-lost spell or whatever the hell it is he does when his eyes do that gold thing.’

Lucas heard the underlying message that Merlin had his magic to defend himself, they did not. Maybe this wasn’t exactly the porcelain doll treatment after all. Maybe this was just thinking strategically. Merlin had his magic to defend himself, but they only had the guns. If they were to be successful in shooting Mordred, if he was even here to begin with, then they would need someone to distract him while the other one shot. That was how they had done Morgana, and it had worked.

He must have waited too long before he replied, because he suddenly found himself on the receiving end of an inquisitive stare. ‘Are you okay?’

He was, as a matter of fact, or he would be if he wasn’t so worried for Jo’s sake. The Isle of the Blessed didn’t frighten him. ‘I’m your colleague; I should bloody well hope so.’

Still, he couldn’t keep that annoyed tone out of his voice. It was just that she had felt it necessary to ask that was grating on his every last nerve. This whole thing was bad enough when Harry did it, but if Ros was starting, then that was bad. She normally would have nothing to do with any kind of that sentimental nonsense unless there was a real need. And he’d rather not she directed her worry about Jo at his person.

Fortunately she seemed to get the message. ‘Good. I’ll just be annoying you then, shall I? I’ve heard that’s what friends do.’

‘You heard that too, then?’ he quipped, before adding: ‘You distract, I shoot this time?’ Best get the topic back to something professional rather than personal.

‘Questioning my skills?’ Ros arched an eyebrow at him.

‘Nah, just thought that Mordred would be more attracted to you than he would be to me,’ he returned, flashing a wicked grin in her direction.

‘I’m just to flash my cleavage at him and hope that is going to stop him from noticing you about to shoot his brains out?’ she asked sceptically.

‘Ideally, yes.’ This was their banter and he loved it. He had missed it over the last couple of days, but then, neither of them had really been good company for a while. With so much going down, it was hardly a surprise. And this was hardly the right time and place to engage in a battle of wits, but it was what Lucas felt he needed.

There was no real reason why he should suddenly be treated any different, but that was what Ros had been doing. Maybe she wasn’t doing so now, but she had done at Morgana’s hovel, carefully keeping him away from the things that might upset him, letting Merlin and her deal with the most important work. And if she thought he had missed out on that, she was not as clever as he had always believed her to be. Hopefully normal behaviour from his side might do the trick of making her understand that this was just another normal operation to him, apart from the fact that Jo was still missing, and that was making him all kinds of uncomfortable.

Ros merely snorted. She had her gun in hand and didn’t seem to be willing to let go of it anytime soon. Lucas himself was starting to feel a little jumpy. If Mordred was going for theatrical, then this would be the right place to make an appearance. But the longer they were searching, the more he was starting to feel as if they had underestimated him. Mordred wasn’t out to bait them with Jo. If that was the case, then why hadn’t they already found her? What if Mordred was playing a different game altogether? It was setting his teeth on edge.

‘We won’t find him here.’

The words were out of his mouth before he could have thought them through, but they felt true. The place had an abandoned feel about it, something he couldn’t quite explain rationally, and something which Ros therefore would dismiss as poppycock until they had searched the entire Isle and concluded for themselves that there was no one.

True to expectations, she reacted in her own snarky way. ‘You’ve been hanging around Merlin too much. Have you absorbed some of his magic by association that you’re so sure about that?’

‘Not that I know of,’ he admitted. ‘Would be nice, though.’

‘If only,’ Ros muttered. She still didn’t like magic, was highly uncomfortable around it, and after all that they had seen, could he actually blame her for it? He didn’t even know if he himself fully approved of it. But it was handy to have on side now that their opponent had it. It balanced the odds a bit.

He was right, though, the Isle of the Blessed was abandoned. They searched high and low, but there was just nobody, and Ros’s amount of patience was rapidly decreasing. It didn’t make her pleasant company to be around. Lucas knew it was a mixture of nerves and worry, but he sure as hell didn’t have to like the way she behaved, snapping at him to check out this or that place, rather than ask. The teasing had been abandoned altogether. And it was really getting on his nerves.

‘Stop it!’

It was after the umpteenth time Ros had snapped at him, after a room she could have sworn was noise coming from turned out to be unsurprisingly empty. It had been the wind that caused the sound.

‘Are you telling me what to do?’ The tone indicated that her temper had reached critical levels.

‘Yes, in fact, I am.’ Lucas wasn’t sure where all that nerve had come from, but Ros wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it. ‘No one is here, Ros.’ He carefully omitted the _we’re wasting time_ that he was sure she would hear in spite of his efforts.

But it was the truth. Jo wasn’t here, and neither was Mordred. Whatever game he was playing, they had made the wrong guess. This clearly was nowhere near what they had expected. They had been out all day and if the Druid had planned to attack them, then surely he would have done it by now. It had to be something else, something they hadn’t yet guessed.

Or maybe there was no plan. Maybe this was just blind rage. Mordred could have taken Jo merely to kill her, and then have the rest of them running around like headless chickens. In the meantime he could strike whenever one of them was alone. Jo hadn’t even made it for five minutes after Merlin had left her.

But then, if he wanted to kill only, then why had he physically taken Jo? Why hadn’t he murdered her on the driveway and left her body for either the police or Section D to find? Harsh though it sounded, if that had been the case, they would have had some answers by now. The uncertainty was torment. He wondered if Mordred knew that and had acted as he did purely for that reason. He seemed sadistic enough to think of it, that was for certain.

‘I can see that for myself, thank you.’ Well, at least she was no longer trying to deny it, which was a start. Or rather, it would be a start if she wasn’t so obviously on the warpath, very intent on creating carnage, and he was the nearest thing available. ‘If you’re quite done stating the bloody obvious, let’s get off this island now.’

She had turned on her heels and left Lucas to follow by himself. It was more like running to keep up with her, though. And he understood, he honestly did. He was worried about Jo too. If anyone had a realistic idea of what might have been done to her, it would be him, and he had a feeling Ros knew it, knew it and didn’t want to know. If she wanted that, she’d have asked him for some kind of analysis or explanation by now. The fact that she hadn’t spoke volumes.

Part of him really felt like getting into an argument. The special treatment and then Ros’s mood, now and yesterday, it was really getting on his nerves, but this was not the time. As much as he wanted to be just as unreasonable as his Section Chief, it would be wiser to be the mature one this time. So he just followed quietly and left Ros seething on her own and under her breath.

 _What the hell is Mordred’s game?_ That was the main question, and also the one they failed to get an answer to. If they only knew that, their mission would be a lot easier. They might at least know where to start looking, or what to do.

How was this even his life? Normally he ran after the terrorists, which was something he knew how to do. But now Section D was targeted personally. By a magical deranged lunatic hell-bent on revenge. The former wasn’t all that new. The latter was.

Merlin was already back in the central square when they returned, clearly just as much on edge as Ros and having encountered exactly no one on his search. Lucas knew that in advance, but it was still frustrating. They had wasted hours on this island and there was no result. Of course there was always the slightest chance that Arthur had found something, but he hadn’t pinned much hope on it. Arthur was not target number one and Jo would not be anywhere near Camelot. Mordred knew there were patrols. He’d be stupid if he would let them come anywhere near his hostage. The only chance they had of finding Jo was if it was her dead body. Now that was not really an encouraging thought at all.

‘Nothing?’ he asked, saving Merlin the need of saying it himself.

‘Nothing,’ the warlock confirmed. ‘Back to Camelot?’

That seemed to be the only reasonable thing to be done. The sun was already setting. And since Merlin clearly did not possess the magic to stop the sun from going down as long as Jo wasn’t found, they were running out of time, at least for today. They might as well go back to Camelot and work out what to do next.

Ros was remarkably silent during the whole exchange. She didn’t protest the course of action, not even to point out that she was the most senior in command and they had therefore no right to call the shots. After her outburst of just now, it seemed as though most of the fight had gone right out of her, and Lucas didn’t like that. If even Ros Myers was giving up hope, where on earth would the rest of them find the strength to fight?

The most tell-tale sign was that she had put away the gun. She really didn’t believe there was anyone here, not any more. It was strangely disheartening.

Camelot itself was empty. Merlin had transported them straight back to the Grid. As far as Lucas was aware, Merlin’s magic was still a secret from most except a select few, although how it could remain a secret now that Gwaine was in on it was anyone’s guess really. Gwaine was one of those men who couldn’t seem to stop talking, especially not once he’d consumed a bit of ale.

‘I’m going to brief Harry,’ Ros announced. Whatever it was that had gone through her head was clearly either gone or extremely well-hidden. She was gone before either Merlin or Lucas could comment, and Lucas wasn’t even sure that he wanted to. No matter how little he wanted to admit it, they were running out of ideas.

Merlin had walked over to the window, as much in the mood for talking as Lucas was.

‘What if she is dead already?’ he heard him muttering.

Lucas didn’t think he had been meant to overhear that.

***

Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, would never admit to being bored in the presence of his knights. He was even less likely to say that he was mainly bored because his servant was off searching elsewhere, and was therefore unable to take Arthur’s mind off the more serious matters with his constant chattering. Gwaine was doing an attempt at filling in for him, but he was a rather poor substitute and Arthur realised he had zoned out rather quickly.

He knew his men didn’t understand. Goodness knew they had understood precious little of what had happened during Operation Camelot. The dragon, Morgana, most of it went right over their heads, and Arthur hadn’t known where to even begin explaining. How did you explain something like that?

But what he missed most – and he’d rather die than let this fact ever go public – was the feeling of being protected, the feeling of someone watching his back. With something of a shock he realised that he had grown rather used to Merlin being there, looking after him, even though it had only been a short while ago since he had learned of his servant’s talent for magic. Mordred was still out there somewhere, and he wasn’t the type to stick to swords for an attack. And if there was a magical attack coming, then there was nothing they could do to stop it.

He was distracted when Leon came riding next to him. ‘Sire, if I could have a word?’

Arthur nodded. Distraction was a welcome thing by now. ‘Of course.’

He had a fairly good idea of what he wanted to talk about, though, and that was a less welcome prospect. Section D had hardly explained what had happened. Most of his knights didn’t even believe that they came from another realm – Arthur had taken care to avoid all mention of the words distant future in order to prevent his people from believing him stark raving mad – except for Gwaine, who had been nothing short of nagging Merlin to take him for a visit ever since.

Fortunately Leon’s line of enquiry ran along different lines. At least for now. ‘Is it true that Mordred has turned against us?’ It was telling that he wanted Arthur to give the confirmation, suggesting he didn’t believe the spooks on their word.

Arthur nodded. ‘It’s true. I was there when he turned on us and injured the Lady Ros.’ He almost chuckled at the wholly inappropriate title, because Ros was about the furthest thing from a lady anyone could be. ‘There is no doubt.’

 _And I don’t want to talk about it._ It was hard enough to be confronted – again – with his own failure to correctly assess people’s characters and motives, but this was Mordred, someone who had saved his life only to endanger it later. No, and it was not even his life on the line now, was it? He had merely been used. Mordred had worked his way into Camelot only to get close to the people on his hit list, and Arthur had been most obliging by letting him tag along to London. He couldn’t have messed this up more if he tried.

And the thus far fruitless search was doing nothing in making him view this day and his own part in it a bit more positively. If anything, the sense of failure only increased. Truth be told, Merlin, Ros and Lucas stood a much better chance of finding Mordred. But then, they were the intended targets. Mordred would be a fool to sit back and do nothing while they were out there without any back-up. He might as well have stayed at home.

Except that he knew that he couldn’t. Arthur detested sitting back and letting someone else do the job for him. That was not what he did. And someone had to make sure Jo wasn’t here, just to have everything covered. He might as well be the one to do that. It gave him a bit of occupation at the very least.

‘I am sorry to hear that, Arthur.’ Leon smiled at him. There was still a lot of confusion written all over his face, but he didn’t ask any more questions. That was Leon all over: following orders regardless of what he himself thought. Fiercely loyal, completely reliable. Arthur was very grateful to have him, even if he wasn’t the kind of person to express that gratitude.

He just nodded in response.

The sun was already well on its way to the west, and they still hadn’t found something. By now Gwaine’s constant chattering had fortunately been cut short by Elyan, who’d whacked him over the head, threatening gagging and more violence should he speak one more word. Citing that it wasn’t talking however, Gwaine had opted on whistling. He usually wouldn’t do that on a day like this when stealth was required, so Arthur assumed it spoke volumes about his faith in their mission.

Really, this reminded him too much of the search for Morgana when she had gone missing. And it had been a year before they found her then, in woods far from home, mists swirling among the trees and a couple of bandits to top it off. He supposed he should be grateful for the lack of outlaws, especially since Merlin was not around to make them trip over their own feet or to drop branches on their heads or whatever ridiculous thing he could come up with.

Maybe it was because he was thinking about the possibilities of bandits that he was so alert when he heard a branch snap somewhere in the forest. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Lucas had once remarked cheerfully when they had been talking – not gossiping, that was something only women did – about Harry and as if he had heard, the head of Section D had promptly walked in.

‘Quiet!’ he commanded.

Even Gwaine didn’t feel the need to protest the order or try to finish whatever tavern tune he had been whistling. Good to know that his commands were sometimes heeded. It certainly made for a nice change with how things were with MI-5.

For a moment after everyone had stopped the horses and ceased talking, there was nothing. Arthur was in fact wondering whether or not he had just imagined the sound. He’d been thinking about bandits, and maybe that was why he’d thought he’d heard something suspicious. King or not, Gwaine would ridicule him for being such a frightened girl to jump at shadows. And it could only have been a bird or a wild animal. These woods were crawling with game, which was why he liked to go hunting so often.

But he had not imagined the sound. The snapping of another branch, closer this time, was both reassuring and frightening. Bandits usually took better care than this; most of their advantage was in surprise, so they learned to move quietly. But of course there was the occasional bunch of overconfident idiots who thought stealth was unneeded. They were easily stopped in general, but people could get hurt all the same, and he’d rather avoid that if only he could.

He’d trained his men well. At least they didn’t require instructions when they too heard what he heard. The only thing left to do for Arthur was to direct them to the spots where he wanted them. Spreading out, having all angles covered, try to surround the attacker if there was the slightest possibility. It was all familiar. They’d done it a hundred times before.

The sense of foreboding increased in tenfold. This was like the day they had found Morgana, in so many ways. And it was scary. That he would never admit to anyone, but it was. And he hated the waiting. Arthur was the kind of man who jumped into action without as much as a second thought, but the wait was torment.

And then it ended. Just not in the way he expected.

There weren’t any bandits, like there had been on the day they’d found Morgana and took her back to Camelot, overjoyed that she was alive and even seemingly unharmed. There was just one person, stumbling through the woods as if she had trouble even remaining upright. Walking was something that almost seemed beyond her.

‘Jo.’ The name came out in an incredulous whisper.

It was her, no doubt about it. Arthur had seen her often enough to recognise her if he came across her. Besides, no one else would be wearing jeans in this day and age. And no woman from around here would wear her hair that short. No, this was Jo, and she looked like she had been through hell.

Then instinct kicked in. He was a knight and he was not going to let some poor woman – especially since she was not some woman, she was Jo – stumble through the forest, pointing a sword at her as if she was a bandit, when she was clearly not. He put away the sword, and ran towards her.

Of course she heard the footsteps. ‘Arthur?’ She sounded as if she could barely believe it. ‘Is that you?’

He nodded. ‘You’re safe, Jo. We’ve got you.’ He extended a hand for her to take, to help her stand.

To his surprise she staggered back. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re not real. You never are. None of you are. Get away from me!’ By the end she was shouting.

 _You’re not real. You never are_. There was something altogether alarming about those words. What on earth had Mordred done to her that she was now afraid of her own friends? Not that Arthur thought they were actually friends, but they were on the same side. Temporary colleagues was the description Ros used, and he liked that. And Section D looked after their own.

_What has he done to her?_

‘Jo, we’re real. I promise.’ It was unfortunately the best he could come up with. He’d never been like Merlin or Gwen. They always could think of something to say that reassured people. Arthur was nothing like that. He was good with a sword and he liked to think that he was likeable at the very least, but reassuring frightened people, no, that had never been his strength. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get you to Gaius.’ _You look horrible_.

He just managed to keep that to himself. Had he said it to Merlin, his servant would have laughed at it, maybe even made some sarcastic retort, but this was Jo Portman, and she was unlikely to appreciate his lack of tact.

It didn’t mean his assessment of Jo’s physical condition wasn’t spot on. She looked like a ghost, and that was still an understatement. She was pale, with dark rings under her eyes. Her hair was a mess, her clothes crumpled and dirty. But it were her eyes that were truly alarming. Haunted. It was the only word that sprang to mind. And it had only been just under two days since she had been taken.

 _What has he done to her?_ Arthur had a lingering feeling that he may not want to know all that much.

She only stepped back further. ‘You always say that.’ It was an accusation. ‘You always say that and then you vanish into thin air the moment I start to believe it might be true for once.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re not fooling me.’

It was completely out of character for her to behave like that. Jo could be a bit of a dreamer, but she was also realistic and decisive, at least that was what he could tell from what he had seen of her. She wasn’t this irrational. It only begged the question what had been done to her to make her into this.

‘Take my hand,’ he urged. ‘I’m flesh and blood. Just give it a try.’ He tried to adopt Merlin’s best bedside manner, but had a feeling it didn’t get any further than trying. He had never ever been any good at things like that, so why did he even hope today would be different?

Maybe he should count it progress that she didn’t try to run when he made another step in her direction. On the other hand he should not be approaching her as if she was a frightened animal that could bolt at any time. He _hated_ this, and for the first time since Mordred had pulled the trigger to shoot Ros, he felt the anger. He’d felt it before, but it was weak and feeble in comparison with the burning rage he experienced right then.

Who even did this to another human being who’d never even wronged them? Jo had never even been that much involved in Morgana’s eventual downfall. She had never even set foot on the Isle of the Blessed, yet she was the first one to be truly affected. Ros would heal, and then there might be a small scar to remind her of what had happened, but that would be it. She’d go on with her life as if nothing had happened. It was blaringly obvious that whatever had been done to Jo, the effects would haunt her for much longer.

And that was what made it so much easier to let go of the ties he still had to Mordred. This made it clear that no matter the young Druid boy he’d been when Arthur first met him, that child was long gone, leaving a bitter and vengeful man in his place, a sorcerer and an enemy. And he had to be stopped, right after he had taken Jo back to Camelot.

‘I’m real,’ he insisted, coming another step closer, inwardly cheering at his victory when she still didn’t run, even though she looked like she desperately wanted to. ‘We’ve found you.’

Heaven knew how she had even ended up here. There was no sign of Mordred, and for now that was enough. Arthur Pendragon did not think of himself as a vengeful man, but he craved justice for this. That was something else entirely. So, when Jo was back to safety, he would make it a priority to find Mordred and have him answer for what he had done. As it should be.

‘Jo, you’re safe. I promise.’ The words must sound empty to her. Whatever it was that Mordred had done, it involved hallucinations of them saying the exact same thing. And then they vanished without a trace. That was what she had said, wasn’t it?

Another step closer, and another, and another until he finally stood in front of her. So far he didn’t think she had even noticed any of his men, most of which were still not wholly convinced that this was not some kind of trap. Truth was, Arthur was not even sure of that himself.

‘Jo?’ _Please don’t let her run now_.

Any of his temporary colleagues could have done this better than he could. And that included Ros. But none of them were here and so the task fell to him. Well, Gwaine probably wouldn’t mind taking care of this, but Arthur was quite sure that Gwaine defaulted to flirting every time he laid eyes on a pretty woman, and that would not do today.

Hesitantly he held out his hand and took Jo’s. ‘We’ve got you,’ he promised. ‘You’re safe now. I swear.’

Jo didn’t protest any more as he took hold of her and as gently as he could led her back to the horses and his men. She was hurt and exhausted, which was why he felt all the more guilty about having this nagging feeling that this was a big trap.


	29. Chapter 29

The day had been a waste. It became all the more clear to Merlin as he tried to focus on the discussion going on around him. Harry had reluctantly accepted Ros’s theory that Mordred could still be hiding out in London, if only because that was what none of them had expected. But it felt more and more like some wild goose chase. They didn’t have a clue as to where Mordred was, and since no one had seen hide nor hair of him for months they had no idea where to even start looking. In short, the situation was looking rather bleak.

And Jo’s name was hardly even mentioned as if by unspoken agreement. It didn’t mean that they weren’t all thinking about her. Merlin was at the very least. He had a feeling that Ros was too. But if the Section Chief was going to open up, she’d do it to Lucas or Harry. As far as the warlock was aware, she didn’t like him all that much, especially not since he had disobeyed orders and had left Jo on her own. If she hadn’t needed him, she’d never have agreed to work together.

And Arthur was still not back either. Merlin tried not to let that fact worry him – it was late in the afternoon, but not so late that the sun had set completely – but he worried all the same. No, Mordred had not tried to make an attempt on any of their lives, but Arthur could very easily become a victim if that was what Mordred was really planning.

‘We need to know what Mordred wants,’ Merlin pondered out loud. As long as they didn’t know that, how could they ever take the right action?

We thought we knew and we were wrong,’ Lucas pointed out. That frown on his forehead had become permanent. ‘He wasn’t trying to bait us and we haven’t found a body.’

Harry had left the Grid in favour of his broom cupboard-turned-office a few minutes ago in a cloud of anger and impatience. Ros had retreated to her desk on the other side of the room, subjecting the available maps to such close scrutiny that they would have burned under her gaze if she’d had the slightest bit of magic at her disposal. Lucas’s desk was situated near hers, but he’d taken up his things and moved over to where Merlin was sitting.

‘Shouldn’t you be sitting with Ros?’ he asked. Those two were usually as thick as thieves. And really, he was not good company today. All he wanted was to be left alone, a message Lucas either didn’t get or chose to ignore.

The spy shrugged. ‘Nah, best give her a space for an hour or so.’

Merlin translated that as Ros Myers being unbearable at the moment. Lucas was just looking for a place to sit that wasn’t near her. Given all the sniping she’d done today, he couldn’t really blame him.

‘I see.’

‘We’ll find her, Merlin.’ Lucas didn’t sound convinced. Determined, yes, but not convinced. They all wanted to find Jo, more than they wanted to find Mordred, but that didn’t automatically mean that they would. It was just wishful thinking.

In hindsight it had been so much easier to get Lucas back. They’d had Hogan then, and they had known how to play him so that he would give them the information they needed to find Lucas. That was all they had needed. Their own resourcefulness had done the rest. And the team had been just as motivated to find him as they were now to find Jo.

Except now they didn’t have a clue about where to look, who to ask. They didn’t even know if they should look in Camelot or in London. They were throwing theories around, but that was as far as it went. There was nothing substantial, nothing that led anywhere. Morgana’s hovel and the Isle of the Blessed had been their best guesses, and it was painfully obvious that no one had stepped foot there in months. They breathed desolation and abandonment. If someone had been there, they would have found traces.

Truth was, they knew nothing about what Mordred had done before he had come to Camelot.

‘What would he have done to her?’ Merlin had been wondering that since the moment he knew Mordred had taken Jo, but the question was meant to stay inside his head. He hadn’t meant to put it to anyone, least of all the resident expert on anything to do with kidnapped spies. He didn’t want to know, not really. On the other hand there was a very good reason why he kept wondering.

‘I don’t know.’

Spies lied. It was what they did for a living. And Lucas was definitely not telling him the truth.

‘You’re lying.’ Merlin blamed the exhaustion and the disappointment for his uncharacteristic directness.

Lucas didn’t look at him when he answered. ‘You do not want to know.’ He threw a sideward glance at the warlock. ‘And I think you already have thought up a few scenarios of your own. My guess is no better than yours.’

But it was. Lucas was the one who had been taken captive twice, once by the Russians and once by Morgana. And Mordred was far too close to Morgana. Judging by the evidence they’d already gotten, it was fair to say that he had absorbed a fair amount of her mannerisms over the course of their acquaintance.

‘What did Morgana want from you?’ he asked, again his mouth moving faster than his brain. Lucas seemed to have recovered well from his ordeal, to such an extent that it didn’t influence his actions in the field, but he was never all that eager to talk about it. Merlin remembered the state they’d found him in, and found he understood the reason for his silence on the subject. He himself was never all that eager to recount his quick spell in Morgana’s less than charming house.

To his surprise the other man answered, even though he kept looking toward the window as he did. ‘Information.’ He was definitely avoiding Merlin’s gaze on purpose. ‘Information about how to get into Thames House, about the team, the weak spots. I don’t remember all of it.’ Only now Merlin noticed that Lucas’s face was paler than was healthy and his hands had been clenched into fists.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.

One day he would get this right, this communicating with his London allies and friends. There would come a day when he would not accidentally put them all in danger. During Operation Camelot he had mistrusted Lucas, and the spy had been taken captive and tortured, and now he had tried to give Jo space, and she had been taken. Not that his track record in Camelot was any better. He knew full well that there was nothing he could do about it now, but he kept wondering what would have become of Morgana if he had been honest with her from the start. Surely she would not have turned into this evil witch?

But the past was dead and buried, and it was the present they had to deal with.

‘We haven’t found her,’ Lucas observed. ‘And he hasn’t made any attempt to take us when we were out today.’

‘You think he is questioning her,’ Merlin understood. He had arrived at the same conclusion just before Lucas opened his mouth. It was not an idea he liked to entertain, but it was an option they had to consider now.

He will keep her alive for that,’ the spy said. ‘As long as she doesn’t divulge any useful information, as long as he doesn’t have us, he will keep her alive. He needs her. She’s his way in.’

‘That’s sick.’ It was; the very thought made him nauseous. How could anyone even think about people like that, like they were thoughtless objects to be used and thrown away when they had outlived their usefulness? Yes, it happened, but that didn’t mean he understood what could drive people to do such things.

 _But they do it too. That’s how they know. They are not that different_. The thought sneaked up on him, wriggling its way into his mind, trying to sow doubt as it went. Because there was truth in it, too much truth in it. The spies were not all that different. He’d seen with his own eyes how little regard Ros had for the welfare and survival of informants. He’d even seen her throw scalding hot coffee in a man’s lap. Admittedly that man had been Bob Hogan, so Merlin’s pity for him had been limited. All the same, they had done it to other people.

They are not good. He’d thought that before. They were on the right side, but that didn’t make them good, not in the way for example Arthur was. Arthur refused to cross certain lines, but Section D operated under a different moral law altogether, one that was completely alien to him. And it unnerved him more than he was really prepared to admit. Because he also _needed_ them.

‘It is how some people think, Merlin.’ If Ros had been the one to tell him that, she’d have snapped at him, acting every inch the experienced adult telling the little child how the world worked. Lucas was more patient. Merlin wasn’t fooled, though; if it came down to it, he could be just as ruthless as the Section Chief. All things considered it was something of a miracle they had even ended up working together.

‘It’s still sick.’

It was a judgement of the spies’ manners as much as of Mordred’s. He had a lingering feeling that Lucas knew full well that was what he meant.

‘You may not like it, Merlin.’ Oh yes, he sounded distinctly more displeased now. ‘But it is how it works. You can at least be glad that she’ll still be alive.’

‘Unless we’ve got it wrong again.’ Hadn’t they been thinking that it was Mordred’s intent to lure the three of them out until a few hours ago? That had not exactly turned out to be true now, had it? Wasn’t that the reason why Harry had made off to his office just now? Was that not the reason why Ros was glaring at the maps in front of her?

‘Little ray of sunshine you are,’ came a sarcastic comment from behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder taught him that Ros had abandoned her maps and had moved over to them.

Merlin suppressed the urge to make a comment involving pots and kettles.

‘Anything?’ Lucas asked.

‘Except an old coot spilling half a cask of wine on top of one of the maps?’ Ros asked, arching an eyebrow. ‘Any chance you could magic it out of the parchment?’ The question was directed at Merlin. ‘God knows they are little enough help as it is, but it would help if I could actually see what’s on them.’

Merlin forced himself to smile and throw in a joke to break the tension. ‘And here I was thinking Gwaine had been banned from the library after he ruined the Essetir Chronicles with ale.’

It didn’t do what it was intended to do, not exactly, but the glaring had ended. ‘Do I want to know what he was doing at the time?’

Merlin grinned. ‘Well, he hadn’t meant to be in the library at all, but he’d been to the tavern and had drunk a few too many. He _claims_ he tripped over his own toes and the ale accidentally spilled over the book.’ The memory made the smile a bit more genuine. ‘Anyway, do you want me to take a look at the map?’

‘That was what I was asking you, wasn’t it?’ With Ros there was no such answer as _yes, please_. Merlin knew that, but he didn’t have to like it. But it would be better not to test her patience now.

She spread the map in question out on the table in front of him. He knew the one. It was one of the southern parts of Cenred’s kingdom. Or what used to be Cenred’s kingdom. It had passed to his brother Lot after his demise at Morgause’s hands. That was one of the few people he was very glad to be rid of. Not that Lot was much friendlier in his intentions towards Camelot.

‘You think that’s where Mordred has gone?’ he asked.

He’d been toying with the idea himself. Magic wasn’t outlawed there and there were plenty of woods in which he could hide. Merlin’s own father had hidden there for twenty years without being found. It didn’t bode well for their own attempts. And he was fairly certain that even if Lucas was right and Mordred would keep Jo alive as long as she didn’t tell him anything, they didn’t have twenty years. Only heaven knew how long they would have.

‘You don’t think?’ Ros asked sharply.

‘No, I didn’t mean that!’ he hastened to say, sure he had detected a hint of criticism in her voice. ‘It’s a good plan, a brilliant plan.’

‘Remove the stain, will you?’ Impatience took over once again. Ros Myers had found something to investigate and he was stalling. And that was really not a good place to be in.

He nodded, held his hand over the map and muttered the incantation. As ever Ros was less than impressed with his achievements. She merely nodded her thanks – he assumed she meant it in thanks anyway – took the map and moved back to her desk, calling over her shoulder to the two men to get back to work.

‘She gets worse when there is no coffee,’ Lucas remarked, almost apologetically.

‘I thought you brought it with you?’ Merlin inquired. Ros would hate it if she found out that her team thought her mood was dependent on the availability of caffeine. It wasn’t, Merlin knew. It was just one of those jokes, and the truth was that Ros drank rather a lot of the stuff, but what really drove her was her team. She cared about them, and to have one of her people missing was putting her in a mood that was comparable with Arthur on an empty stomach.

‘We’re rationing,’ Lucas retorted. _God knows how long we’ll be here_. It went unspoken, but certainly not unheard.

Merlin knew better than to suggest going back to London to fetch them some more. They had better use for each and every one of them now. Not that there was something they could actually do right this very moment, but hopefully Ros would come up with something. She could be very inventive when she put her mind to it, and right now she was like a bloodhound chasing after its favourite bone.

‘Shame,’ he only said. ‘I’ll go get some maps.’

He needed to go and do something anyway. Sitting here, theorising about what could or could not have happened didn’t make him feel any more optimistic about the future. Besides, he had never really been one to sit still. He was a servant; his job was all about running around, fetching things. Or running around after Arthur, saving his ungrateful backside for the umpteenth time. He’d long since lost count of just how many times he had saved the king from magical monsters, angry sorcerers and occasionally his own stupidity. Arthur, who had still not returned to Camelot. It was getting late, and Merlin was getting rather jumpy.

He made his way to the cupboard next to the window, where they had stored the maps they thought relevant for the time being, so they would have easy access. He opened the doors and then stopped dead.

He hadn’t meant to look out of the windows; it had been an unconscious action, caused by the uneasiness over Arthur’s prolonged absence. Except Arthur wasn’t absent anymore. The search party had returned, Arthur in front of course. And he was holding a very familiar figure wrapped in a red cloak in front of him.

Jo.

***

 _I’ve done this before_.

And indeed, the scene in front of Ros Myers was currently very familiar. Not very long ago, just a couple of months previous, she had stood in this exact same square when a couple of knights had carried Lucas’s prone form into the castle. The only difference was that back then she had been a part of the rescue party. Hell, she’d even driven a twenty-first century van at top speed through the lower town in order to get her colleague to a healer who’d have some knowledge of what had been done to Lucas.

This was slightly different. And it shouldn’t be vexing her so much that the knights had been the ones to find Jo, while she had been magically dragged to all ends of the kingdom and had come back with empty hands. Good grief, she’d gone over every worst case scenario on her return, something Lucas, the bastard, clearly knew, if that look was anything to go by. And all the while she had been worried for nothing, because Arthur and his merry men had already found her in some godforsaken place in the forest. Only she could not have known this. Not for the first time she found herself cursing the lack of mobile communication devices in this age.

Arthur had dismounted already when Ros stormed into the courtyard, Merlin and Lucas hot on her heels, and Harry presumably following behind somewhere as well; she hadn’t stopped to make sure once she had shouted the news in the general direction of his glorified broom cupboard.

‘Where?’ she demanded.

To his credit Arthur didn’t point out that he was the king and that, when they were in Camelot, there were certain points of etiquette to be observed. ‘Some miles to the southeast,’ he reported. ‘She was alone, just wandering around.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Mordred was nowhere. I had my men spread out and search for him, but he was nowhere near.’ He lifted Jo’s limp body from the horse with a gentleness she hadn’t believed him capable of.

‘How bad?’ The tension didn’t do her ability to speak in full sentences any good. Altogether, she was treating this as if it was a debrief after an operation, which it rather was, she supposed.

Arthur shook his head, passing Jo on to Lucas’s waiting arms, leaving him to talk to Ros. ‘She seems all right, just exhausted.’ Prolonged exposure to the Section D way of life had made him adopt their way of conveying information from time to time, Ros noted. ‘Merlin, don’t just stand there staring! Get Gaius!’ he shouted at the servant who seemed to have frozen on the stairs leading down into the courtyard the moment he laid eyes on Jo.

‘Gaius. Right. I’ll… eh… I’ll go get him.’ The words had already left his mouth when his brain finally caught up with him, reminding him that it might be a very good idea to get a physician. Until then he had been too busy staring at Jo with a mixture of hurt and guilt that Ros herself understood only too well, but that she really had no time for today. The pressing need for help finally had seeped through to Merlin’s brain, because he turned around and raced back into the castle. Lucas followed with Jo at a slower pace.

‘But…?’ Ros urged, demanding clarification for the word that had not been said, but that she had heard all the same in Arthur’s explanation.

‘She was hallucinating.’ Arthur Pendragon had never been one for beating around the bush, and his hesitance in admitting this was probably the closest he’d ever come to it, which was a tell-tale sign that he was very ill at ease. ‘She said we weren’t real. “You never are,” were her exact words.’

And that did not sound like Jo. Ros was well aware that the junior officer had experienced a great deal of trouble getting over her abduction by the Redbacks, but she had gotten over that. And she had never before had really irrational behaviour. Well, she had. She’d thought that she had seen her tormentor everywhere for a while, but that had stopped when Ros had shown her the photographs of the man’s dead body. Good riddance too. Jo herself had been a bit shocked to learn she had killed the man, but Ros admired her for it.

But this, this was new. _You never are_. What the hell was that supposed to mean? There was this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was wrong here, something she could not quite put her finger on yet, but that went beyond normal trauma that could be inflicted by kidnappers.

Out of character. That was what this was, and nothing good had ever come from people suddenly acting as they were really not supposed to. It was always a prelude to something bad. When Adam had started to act out of character, it was an indication that he was going to pieces, same with Jo after her encounter with the Redbacks. Ros had a very good reason to have a healthy dislike of it. And it wasn’t going to bode well now.

_Bloody hell. What’s he done to her?_

It was one of those days that she really wasn’t sure she even wanted to know; there was only so much bad news she could handle on a single day. For just once she wanted to be glad that she had her officer back and have nothing else to worry about. Well, except for Mordred, who had the pleasure of enjoying her undivided attention the moment she knew Jo would recover. She had a bone or two to pick with him, and the sooner she’d done that, the sooner she could go back to dealing with her preferred kind of terrorist, the ones that didn’t use magic to cause chaos. Give her nuclear suitcase bombs any day. The sooner that happened, the happier she’d be.

‘You never are?’ she asked.

Arthur nodded. ‘She said that every time she started to believe that we were there, we vanished. She said she wouldn’t be fooled again.’

‘The moment Merlin gets back with Gaius, tell him to start looking into what magical spells or bloody herbs could cause hallucinations like that.’ Ros made a mental note to send a request back to Thames House for one of the desk officers there to research what non-magical substances could account for Jo’s symptoms. Mordred may be a sorcerer, but that didn’t mean he did everything by magic.

It was testimony to just how spooked Arthur was by recent events that he didn’t even put up a token protest that he was the king and she had no right whatsoever to boss him about. It was slightly worrying to see. Grateful as she was for the cooperation, she’d have appreciated some recalcitrant stubbornness about now.

‘Tell me about the rest,’ she demanded.

‘Mordred was nowhere near her,’ Arthur reported as they began to make their way into the castle, some way behind the rest of the team.

Now that Ros knew that Jo was safe, there was no bloody need to run after her like a headless chicken. Merlin was filling that role well enough on his own. Ros Myers had more pressing business than to fuss at the young woman’s sickbed. She wanted to know what Gaius had to say, but he was an old man; he’d not arrive before they did.

‘Hiding places?’

Arthur shook his head. ‘None that we could find. I had my men spread out to look for something. Jo left a track that was easy to follow. Sir Leon reported that about ten minutes away from where we found her, the trail just ends. There’s nothing there. She literally appeared in the middle of nowhere. Either that or someone covered the rest of them, which is possible. If I were Mordred, I wouldn’t want to leave a trail leading right to my hiding place either.’

There were so many things wrong with this that for a moment Ros didn’t know exactly where to start. The first, when she finally forced her thoughts back in a semblance of order, was that it now looked like Mordred had let Jo go of his own volition. Admittedly, he’d put her through hell first, but the long and short of it was that he had let her go. Why abduct her, and then let her go less than two days later? There was not an ounce of sense to be found in that course of action. Of course Ros would be the first to admit that some of the people here weren’t all that good with making sense to begin with, but this was suspicious.

The second was that they had found Jo alive. If Mordred would really be done with her, if she had given him the information he wanted from her – which would not have surprised Ros all that much if that would have been the case – then it would have been the obvious course of action for him to kill her. Why risk that she lived to tell the tale of what happened to her? Why let an opponent have that advantage? She could tell them where he had been holding her for heaven’s sake. And Ros had been in this line of work for too long to believe in the concept of a terrorist with a fully functional conscience.

‘We’ll need to debrief her soon as possible,’ she said.

It didn’t sit right with her. In truth it reminded her a bit of what the Russians had done when they had suddenly been as nice as to give them back Lucas North, after eight years of either pretending they didn’t have him or simply ignoring Harry’s efforts to get his officer back. When they had let him go, it was only because Lucas had promised them that he’d spy for them. They’d planted Lucas back with him. Of course they had severely underestimated Lucas’s sense of loyalty to MI-5 and he had conveniently broken his promise to them the moment he was back in Thames House, but still, the intent was the same.

Arthur nodded. ‘I’ll have my men search the area again. There must be something we missed somewhere.’ He looked at the sky. ‘It will have to wait till tomorrow. We are losing the light. And maybe we will have some information from Jo herself that can help us.’

Ros almost smiled. Almost. When she had first met Arthur Pendragon, she had been less than impressed with the man who seemed to do little else than shout his displeasure at the top of his lungs and rather used his servant to get coffee from the machine than walk those few yards himself to get it. He’d grown into more of a leader since then, someone she could actually work with. It didn’t mean she had to like the delay, but he had a point. She was not in London anymore, and she had to work with what was locally available. Electric light sadly wasn’t.

To her surprise Gaius had made more haste than she had given him credit for – either that or Merlin had cheated by transporting him from one end of the castle to the other – because he was already leaning over Jo when Arthur and Ros entered the room. Merlin was hovering over her from the other side, the school example of a worried lover, no matter how much he may deny that.

Lucas and Harry had retreated to the other end of the room to give the other two men the space to work. Lucas’s face betrayed that he was combatting some of his private demons, while it could be called something of a miracle that Harry had not exploded yet. If she was protective of her team, then Harry was ten times worse, although, in his defence, he had never committed treason because of it. On the other hand, she had heard a story of him arranging an assassination of the man who had stuck one of his officers’ head in a fryer. _We’re equally as bad, the two of us_. Ten to one that Harry would very much like a word with that Druid. A word and a gun.

‘You okay?’ she asked Lucas. If she was worrying over one of her team, she might just as well go all the way and worry about the bloody lot of them.

‘I’m your colleague.’ The answer was pretty standard, and by now Ros knew him well enough to correctly translate this to _not okay at all._

She forced a smile. ‘Well, we’re friends. It’s my prerogative to annoy you.’

He reciprocated the smile. ‘I should upgrade you to best friend then.’ It was more like a grimace than a smile, but it was progress enough, and at the moment Ros was not really in the mood for social chat. Some in Thames House might go as far as to say that Ros ‘Thundercloud’ Myers was _never_ in the mood for social chat, but she had learned to ignore them by now.

‘I should get paid extra for all that effort,’ she remarked wryly.

Lucas was on the verge of a no doubt very witty retort, but Gaius stopped him from uttering it. He had gotten himself upright again, a solemn but mainly puzzled expression on his face. ‘She is very exhausted, but there is nothing else I can find, sire,’ he reported.

It came as no surprise that he gave his findings to Arthur rather than the assembled spies in the back of the room. They’d hardly made a favourable impression on him during their last stay, and Ros had not exactly been the school example of polite when she arrived here yesterday. No doubt he was the good guy around here, but she could never quite summon up the patience for his slow explanations.

 _Just exhausted?_ ‘No injuries?’ she questioned sharply, suspiciously. ‘Bruises?’ Oh, she’d love to believe that Mordred had given them Jo back unharmed out of the goodness of his heart. As it was, Ros seriously doubted the existence of a heart, never mind the goodness in it. Lack of goodness was probably a far more accurate description.

Gaius, reluctantly, turned to face her on Arthur’s encouraging nod. ‘Nothing I can find, my lady.’

Ros mentally snorted at the title; it was her father who had a knighthood – if they hadn’t stripped him off it by now – not her. With her track record, she was unlikely to ever be singled out to be the bearer of any sort of title. ‘And drugs?’ she insisted when no one appeared to ask the obvious question for her.

The reply was the same as it had been. ‘Nothing that I can find.’

It took Ros most of the self-control she possessed to stop herself from blurting out a very irritable ‘Then make sure you find something!’ She had to remind herself that she was not in Thames House, and she had no right whatsoever to call the shots in this place, but heaven knew she wanted to. Hallucinations didn’t just appear out of thin air. They had to come from somewhere.

Her eyes met Arthur’s. The king gave a slight nod and Ros knew that they were in agreement. Something was very wrong.


	30. Chapter 30

The sense of wrongness only increased when Gaius announced that there was nothing he could find on Jo that indicated that anything had been done to her since the moment Mordred had taken her. True, she looked as if she had been to hell and back again and it was quite frankly impossible to argue with the diagnosis of exhaustion, but there was something more. Arthur Pendragon used to be naïve, but those days were far behind him nowadays. He couldn’t afford it anymore. And this situation with Jo set his teeth on edge. Wrong. Things didn’t add up the way they should.

And he had a feeling Ros and he were the only two alert enough to notice the trouble looming ahead. Merlin was too visibly relieved to have Jo back with them to ask the questions he would usually have asked. He was hovering near her like a worried mother hen. At any other time Arthur would have mercilessly teased his servant with his clear obsession with the female spy, but not today. Today it made him blind for the suspicious elements and that was not something to be laughed at. No, there were not just suspicious elements, everything about this was wrong somehow.

Lucas seemed to be on another planet entirely, his face too pale to be healthy. The reason for that behaviour was easy to guess. Harry on the other hand appeared to be steaming with anger. Mordred would be very wise to stay well away from the enraged spy boss; an encounter between those two would certainly end in bloodshed, and even though the Druid had magic on his side, Arthur knew better by now than to underestimate Harry Pearce, especially when he was properly vexed.

But neither of them seemed to question the day’s events the way Arthur and Ros were. It was quite the novel experience; Arthur was generally one of the last people to doubt something or someone. Merlin was usually first in line when it came to that. But even though Arthur Pendragon was not the most suspicious soul to walk this earth, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t see it when something was not as it ought to be, something Merlin frequently seemed to lose sight of, much to his king’s annoyance.

It hadn’t been sitting right with him right from the moment he had first seen Jo wandering around as if in a daze, as if she was barely aware of where she was and where she was going. Her behaviour when she saw and recognised him only alarmed him even more. Jo could be a sensitive young woman, but that wasn’t all there was to her, he’d soon learned. She could hold her own. This, this helplessness he’d seen, the irrational fear that he wasn’t real, that was nowhere even near her usual conduct. Of course, she had been through a lot, but that only allowed for so much.

The entirety of the journey he had tried to make sense of what exactly it was that was bothering him so much about this rescue – if it could be called a rescue when it was more like an coincidental run-in. It wasn’t the fact that Mordred was nowhere to be found or indeed that the tracks ended in the middle of nowhere. No, eventually he decided that it was the “coincidental” that was setting off his every alarm bell. He’d seen too much “coincidences” in his life to believe in them any longer. And that led him to the heart of the matter: all of this reminded him in too many ways of how Morgana was found. Minus the attacking bandits beforehand, the situations were identical, right down to the way both of the women had walked and reacted to seeing him, although Morgana had been the easier to convince.

And Morgana had turned on them within the day.

 _No_. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought that was trying to wriggle its way into his mind. No, that was nonsense. One only had to look at Jo to know that she was not a danger to anyone. He knew her. She had been gone for less than two days all things considered. It couldn’t be. Even so, he knew himself well enough to know that _couldn’t be_ here had the meaning of _he didn’t want it to be_. And when had anyone ever done what he wanted when it really mattered?

He caught Ros’s eyes from across the room. The Section Chief had rapped her questions at Gaius and was visibly displeased with the answers she’d gotten. Just this once he couldn’t blame her, even though her manners left something to be desired. But that there was nothing to be found on Jo was strange and unsettling. He was as likely to believe that Mordred had done nothing more damaging than give Jo a sleepless night as he was to buy the story of Gwaine giving up on ale for the rest of his life; it just wasn’t possible. It didn’t happen.

The look in Ros’s eyes told him that she concurred.

Arthur was not a born and trained spy, but he liked to think he could be discreet. He gave a slight jerk of the head towards the door, knowing she’d understand what he meant. They needed to talk about this, work out what it was that was wrong and then act on it. Thus far it didn’t have all the hallmarks of a trap, but it felt like one all the same.  
Ros’s exasperated look told him exactly how discreet she thought he was. Still, he trusted her to follow him out.

‘I’ll talk to the knights and instruct them to investigate the site tomorrow,’ he said. It might be a good excuse to leave the room, but he also intended for them to really go and have a look around. They didn’t have sufficient time to do that today, when the first priority had been to get Jo back to safety. And if there were clues to be found, they’d better find them, because clues were in very short supply at the moment.

He left the room, walked out the corridor and waited around the corner for Ros to join him. In the meantime he might as well try and work out what was bothering him so much about this. It took a few minutes, but then he remembered thinking that the search reminded him of the search for Morgana, just prior to finding Jo.

_That’s it._

That was what rankled him. It reminded him too much of the search for Morgana, the day they found her. No, the day they were meant to find her, because they had been tricked. Morgana had been planted back with them, like a spy who’d gone undercover, so she was in the perfect position to sabotage whatever plan they had. Of course it had been months before they realised what was happening and who was to blame, but in the end they’d known. He snorted. It would have been hard not to know when she proclaimed herself the queen and had his father, _their_ father, imprisoned.

Not that he thought Jo actually capable of betrayal of any kind. She just wasn’t the type. She was too good-hearted, he thought. Morgana on the other hand had always had a bit of a temper, and not much love for his father. She clashed with him over practically everything they could possibly clash over. Was it that surprising that she had eventually chosen Morgause’s side when she never agreed with Uther to begin with?

But he couldn’t see that happening with Jo. She was too different. And it still didn’t make any sense at all.

‘It’s a good thing you’re not a real spy.’ Ros Myers’s drawl snapped him right out of his musings. ‘Even a child would have gotten your meaning.’

‘You are the spy,’ Arthur pointed out. ‘I am the king.’

‘As you never tire of saying,’ Ros retorted. She was one of the few who didn’t care in the very least that he was a king who could command thousands. She was like Merlin in that respect. It was the only thing in which they were alike, though. They were as different as two people could be otherwise.

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence. Ros was clearly waiting for him to speak, a novelty if he had ever seen one, and he was trying to think of a way to convey his suspicions without sounding like paranoid lunatic.

In the end he decided that there was no such thing and he spoke. ‘Something is wrong.’

If Ros’s expression was anything to go by, the only wrong was in his answer. ‘I know that.’ He had a feeling that Ros was experiencing some trouble admitting to that. By now he knew her long enough to know that this was probably caused by the only proof for something wrong was in a feeling, a flash of intuition, while Ros Myers liked to base everything in fact, verifiable facts. There was no room for feelings in her line of work.

‘It’s like it was when we found Morgana,’ he offered. It still wasn’t undeniable evidence, but it was something. ‘We had been searching for her for more than a year before we found her. There was a bandit attack in the woods, which we won,’ he added for good measure, even though that must be blatantly obvious; if they’d lost, he’d be dead. ‘We were cleaning up, assessing the damage when she just wandered out of the woods, looking right through us, and later, when she came to her senses a bit more, like she could barely believe we were there.’

He mentally scoffed at his own choice of words; Morgana had never come to her senses since that day. He still recalled everything that happened there, though. He could still conjure the image like it had happened only yesterday; the mists swirling, the smell of blood in the air, the sounds of injured men. He even recalled the dress Morgana had worn, even when he never paid attention to such things before that. He would look at her and forget what she was wearing instantly the moment he looked away again. Not that time, though.

‘I thought you said she had turned against you?’ Ros asked, eyebrow raised in a silent question.

‘She acted,’ Arthur replied.

He would blame himself till the sun turned cold for not realising sooner. Morgana had never been that talented an actress. He should have sensed something was wrong when she behaved so differently than before. Maybe he had just not wanted to see what was right in front of him, because having the old Morgana back with them made for a much more pleasant alternative. But that was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

‘It was too easy.’ That was the point he was truly trying to make. ‘With Morgana, she was planted back with us.’ Using spy terms still felt strange to him, but he was working with them, so he might as well use their words. ‘Getting Jo back was too easy. Mordred would not have just let her go.’

He didn’t know why he could say this with as much certainty as he did, but it rang true. And maybe it was easier when it was about someone he didn’t care as much about as he had cared about Morgana. Jo was just someone he knew. True, he would fight as hard for her as he would for any other, because that was what it meant to be king, but he would not let himself be blinded.

And it was made harder only because he did not want to believe this, not of Jo. He might have found it easy to believe of anyone else compared with her. Guinevere might be even less likely to betray him, but not many others were just as unlikely. But none of that mattered if she was not in control of her own mind. And her actions were queer at the very least, out of character to be sure.

Ros had folded her arms across her chest, clearly deeply unhappy with the turn events had taken, and very obviously determined to let him do the talking. He was a little surprised she managed as much as a confirming nod in response actually.

His reasoning made sense, and it would seem to more people than just himself. It didn’t alter the fact that Jo would be the last person to ever turn on the people she worked with. Not of her own free will at least, he felt compelled to add. There were ways to magically force someone to do something, weren’t there? He was far from an expert on the matter and neither did he know Jo well enough to tell for certain what she would and wouldn’t do. Unfortunately the only person who could lay claim to knowledge of both things was currently too busy worrying over her to be able to look at this the way he should.

 _I wonder if this is what Merlin felt like when he suspected Morgana and Agravaine and couldn’t tell me because I would not have believed him_. Their roles were very much reversed right now, and it was not a feeling he particularly liked. There was something oddly reassuring about Merlin knowing what to do. Not having that made him feel slightly lost, even if he’d rather die than admit it.

Eventually it was Ros who made the decision. ‘We’ll keep her under observation.’ Her way of talking indicated that Arthur did not have a say in the matter, something that usually only served to set his teeth on edge, but with Merlin playing the lovebird over Jo Portman, he found it was good to have someone else to fall back on, which did not mean he could not handle his own business, thank you very much. Some things were just better done with two than alone.

And so he gave a nod of his own. ‘Good.’ This was uncharted waters for him and taking orders had never sat particularly well with him. But desperate times called for desperate measures and no matter what he did, he could not shake the feeling that something about Jo, about her behaviour was wrong, just wrong. ‘Colleagues, then?’ He conjured up the closest thing to a smile he could manage. ‘I heard they are okay?’ It was something he’d heard Lucas say one time or another.

Ros didn’t wrinkle her nose at the proposal, but it was only just. Arthur Pendragon was not the material spies were made of, and he was grateful for that, because he did not want to be like them. But it was not as if he had much of a choice now that the real spies were not seeing what was right in front of them. Harry would say that they were emotionally compromised, although he would never use the term on himself. Right now Ros and he were the only ones who had seen the potential danger.

‘Colleagues,’ she agreed, throwing in a snort for good measure. ‘Although you might as well be a friend, for all the annoying you do.’

She left Arthur wondering whether he was supposed to take that as an insult or as a compliment.

***

Something about Arthur set Merlin’s teeth on edge. He had been looking at Jo queerly from the moment he had entered the room with Gaius and had not stopped frowning ever since. Then, neither had Harry, but Harry’s infamous scowl had been directed at Gaius rather than the woman in the bed. It was Arthur who made him want to shout that Jo was not the one guilty of anything.

And he failed to see what had his king so antsy anyway. They should be glad to have Jo back. She must have been pretty resourceful to make it away from Mordred on her own, and he wouldn’t deny that a fair bit of luck must have been involved to find Arthur’s party so close. And then to think that he himself had been all over the kingdom trying to locate her and her captor, only to have her show up so nearby. That should make him learn his lesson about going out all guns blazing.

But here was his king, frown on his forehead as he kept a close eye on what Gaius was doing. And then there was Ros with her snapped questions, but Merlin did not expect any different from her. As much as he tried to keep his distance from her, it was hardly a state secret that the Section Chief covered up emotion with biting remarks and sarcasm, and sarcasm wasn’t always required.

But the only thing wrong with her was exhaustion, and that was only to be expected after the ordeal she surely must have been through. They should let her rest and recover her strength and then they’d go after Mordred. He took one look at Ros’s face and corrected himself. Ros would never wait until Jo was back on her feet before they went after the culprit. That thought was strengthened by Harry’s attitude towards this. The search wasn’t over yet.

He took a moment to wonder how they would proceed as Gaius took his supplies, but he had a lingering suspicion that it would involve questioning Jo about the past couple of days in the hope of gaining information that would lead straight to Mordred himself. Debriefing was their word for it. Under the given circumstances, insensitive demands was more how Merlin would like to describe it.

Deep down he was well aware that he was now falling into the category labelled emotionally compromised, as the spies would say. It wasn’t something he was used to. Usually he was the one trying to get Arthur to look at people without his glasses of affection on, but right now he felt a simmering rage for the Druid who thus far had made attempts on the lives of three of his friends and, in Ros’s case, sort-of-friend. But this last attempt was hardest to swallow and hardest to forgive. And Merlin was not even all that convinced that Mordred was worthy of his forgiveness right now.

But if he showed such sentiments in front of his allies, Harry would pull him off the case, never mind his usefulness and his rights to be there. Arthur might very well agree and get him as far away from the mission as possible. It really wouldn’t do to let emotions get the better of him, hard though it was. The only one to benefit from such an attitude would be Mordred.

His resolve was tested soon enough and by the very man who had made it his habit to be selectively blind to the faults of those he cared about: Arthur Pendragon. He directed a stare at Ros and then jerked his head towards the door in a would-be discreet manner. Arthur could not be discreet if his very life depended on it.

And something about this felt wrong to Merlin. He watched as Ros took a minute before she followed Arthur out of the room for some sort of private meeting. Really, what could be so secret about this to warrant a discussion between just the two of them? They could hardly stand one another as far as Merlin was aware. If Ros wanted to discuss something in private, it was generally Lucas or Harry she went to, while Merlin liked to think he enjoyed Arthur’s confidence.

 _Or maybe that ended during Operation Camelot._ The thought wriggled its way into his head and made itself comfortable. The worst thing was that Merlin could not even come up with some good arguments for why that would not be the case. Things had changed since then, and they had never quite gotten back to where they started from.

So maybe it was that which made him invent an excuse for getting out of the room hardly a minute after Ros had taken her leave. He liked to think that it was more of his natural curiosity getting the upper hand.

He didn’t have to search for very long. They were barely around the corner.

‘It’s like it was when we found Morgana.’

And apparently they weren’t making a lot of effort to keep quiet. That was Arthur talking. But that was not what made this so strange; Arthur didn’t really do whispering unless they were on a hunt. No, what struck him as odd was the tone of voice, the thoughtful way of talking Arthur only ever did when he shared his doubts with Merlin or Gwen, people he trusted unconditionally. Last he checked, Ros wasn’t counted among their number. Last he checked, Merlin was. Unless he had been fooling himself about that last one. He tried to pretend that realisation didn’t sting.

In his eagerness not to dwell on it, he focussed on what Arthur had said instead. _It’s like it was when we found Morgana._ The it in this did not need any further explanation. Arthur was comparing the rescue of Morgana to the rescue of Jo, situations that, upon reflection, did seem to have quite a lot in common. He had not heard much about what had happened when they rescued Jo, but just enough to know the similarities. Young woman in a daze wandering aimlessly through the woods, with no sign of her captor anywhere near. And Jo had seemed to think that the whole rescue party was a delusion of some sort on top of all that.

Arthur in the meantime recounted the rest of the tale of Morgana’s recovery to Ros. ‘We had been searching for her for more than a year before we found her. There was a bandit attack in the woods, which we won. We were cleaning up, assessing the damage when she just wandered out of the woods, looking right through us, and later, when she came to her senses a bit more, like she could barely believe we were there.’

Merlin didn’t need the details. He remembered. Sometimes he felt like he remembered entirely too much of the whole thing, especially because he had been the one who failed to see what was taking place right under his nose at the time. Not that he had allowed Morgana to delude him for long, but still.

He didn’t know where Arthur was going with this, but it made him feel faintly uncomfortable inside. Ros asked a question, Arthur answered, but not the answer Merlin was looking for. What was he up to?

‘It was too easy.’ The moment the words left Arthur’s mouth, Merlin wished he hadn’t wondered. ‘With Morgana, she was planted back with us. Getting Jo back was too easy. Mordred would not have just let her go.’

That was what he thought? That Jo had turned to Mordred’s side? Willingly? Was he out of his mind? Jo would never do that, wouldn’t dream of betraying her friends. It wasn’t like her, and it wasn’t like Arthur to even suggest that of someone. It was commonly known that Merlin was the suspicious one and Arthur the trusting one. It had always been like that. This, what Arthur was doing now, was taking suspicious to whole new levels.

He suppressed the urge to storm out into the other corridor like an angered bull in defence of Jo. That would gain him nothing but the confirmation that he was indeed too compromised to be involved with this any longer, and that would not help them at all.

Still, Arthur was not making even the smallest bit of sense at the moment. Yes, Morgana had turned on them, but that was Morgana. She had never loved Uther or his policies, even less so after she had discovered that she had magical powers of her own. Jo was different, nothing like her at all. She had no reason to turn on any of them. And heaven only knew how Arthur had come by that far-fetched idea.

Ros would tell him the same thing. The spies made their decisions based on evidence rather than illogical sentiments.

Except she didn’t. ‘We’ll keep her under observation,’ came the reply after a very lengthy silence. That could not be true, could it? Ros went along with this madness? What possessed her to do that? That Arthur had turned slightly paranoid was alarming enough in and out of itself, but surely someone must have put some sort of spell on the Section Chief if she agreed with him?

‘Good,’ Arthur said.

But nothing about this was even anywhere near good, not in Merlin’s book. They should be concentrating on ratting out Mordred and dealing with him before the Druid dealt with all of them. He had hardly made a secret of his intentions. And while Arthur may occupy the bottom place on his list of targets, Merlin had little doubt that he for a matter of fact was on that particular list. He would not be allowed to live, and that was something Merlin could never stand for. So why were they discussing Jo and her non-existent change of allegiance when there was a much bigger threat at large?

Because Mordred would never have let her go, not that easily. He dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head, though. Jo was a spy. They were a resourceful lot. And anyone would be prompted to be exactly that when facing the prospect of incarceration and possibly torture with one such as Mordred. And since he knew so little about her, he might have underestimated her, giving her all the opportunity she needed to knock him out and get away as fast as she could.

He was too caught up in his own thought process to realise that Ros had taken her leave, but that Arthur still remained where he was.

‘Merlin.’

Given the fact that Arthur didn’t even raise his voice, he must know that his servant was there. Nevertheless, the king could be easy to fool at times, and if he didn’t move, then he might think that he had only imagined things. _Wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last._

‘I’ve hunted deer that breathed quieter than you do, _Mer_ lin.’ Annoyance coloured his voice.

So much for hoping to pass unnoticed. He stepped into Arthur’s line of sight. He could not deny that he had been eavesdropping, but he could at least save some of his dignity by revealing himself rather than be dragged out of his not-exactly-a-hiding-place-at-all.

Arthur stared him down with more annoyance than anger, which was decidedly a good thing. ‘What did I tell you about eavesdropping?’

Merlin produced that dazzling smile he reserved for when he found himself in a tight spot and he really needed to talk himself out of it very soon. ‘Not to?’ he offered.

That answer was probably not going to cut it, if Arthur’s face was any indication, and years of being his servant had left Merlin with an ability to read it like a book. ‘You’re wrong,’ he blurted out. ‘About Jo.’

That may not have been the wisest thing to say, but then, he had already decided that playing the I-haven’t-heard-a-single-thing card was not going to work. And since he had heard the subject under discussion, he might as well add his own opinion. Because what they were thinking was nothing short of utterly ridiculous.

To his credit, Arthur did not dismiss it out of hand. ‘I don’t want to be right, Merlin.’ He sounded it, too.

 _Then don’t be right_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he was fully aware just how childish _that_ sounded, and so he kept it to himself. ‘We should be trying to find Mordred,’ he offered instead. Not that he had any idea how to accomplish that, but it should be their main priority all the same. Suspecting Jo just because she had managed to get herself out was not going to help them in any way.

The frown made a spectacular reappearance. ‘Don’t you think it strange that she just managed to get away from a sorcerer hell-bent on revenge when she didn’t have any weapon on her? Even Lucas could not escape Morgana without our help.’

But Jo wasn’t Lucas and Mordred was not Morgana. For all they knew his methods were different, and so he said. ‘And you can’t really think she would just help him,’ he added for good measure, but _can’t think_ here having the meaning of _please tell me you don’t really think._

‘You were never the kind of person not to be open to all possibilities,’ Arthur observed.

 _You were never the kind to come up with such far-fetched notions,_ he mentally retorted. And he just couldn’t see how one got from similar circumstances during the rescue to similar homicidal tendencies. Jo was the kindest person you would ever meet, which was saying something since kindness didn’t go a long way in her chosen profession. And she was loyal, too. Was that really all it took, just under two days in the company of a murderous Druid, to persuade her friends into thinking that she was a murderous lunatic as well? If that was true, then Merlin didn’t like what that said about them.

‘You know Jo.’ If called on it later, he would violently deny his tone could be best described as pleading. ‘She isn’t Morgana. She never has given any of us any reason to suspect that she wanted to kill us.’ Something that could not be said for Morgana, even before she went missing. ‘We all know her,’ he emphasised.

Merlin thoroughly hated the sympathetic look in the king’s eyes in reply to that. It made him feel like the small child corrected by the stern but well-meaning father. But much as that look hurt, the words cut even deeper.

‘We all thought we knew Morgana.’

There was nothing he could say to that. And Merlin hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehm... sorry? I've been rather busy, which meant that this story got a bit neglected. I'm trying to get back on track, though, so there's more to come!  
> As always, a review would be appreciated.


	31. Chapter 31

There were very few modern delights to brighten up his days here in Camelot, but coffee was one of them and Lucas practically clung to it after a night filled with entirely too much tossing and turning and far too little sleep. Seeing Jo like that had woken memories that would have best stayed buried deep, resulting in the night he’d had. But he’d be damned if he let any of it show. They needed all the people they could get and as long as he was able to do his work without resorting to sleepwalking instead, he would make an appearance on the Grid. Besides, he didn’t think Harry’s temper could bear it if he decided he needed a sick-day, correctly arguing that Mordred didn’t believe in them, so neither should they.

And if he was to get through this day at all, he was going to need coffee, and loads of it. He briefly contemplated sending Merlin back to London to fetch some more, but decided against it. That would be a drain of manpower they could ill afford, great though the temptation may be. He would have to make do with what was available and make sure to leave some for Harry and Ros.

He managed to find his way to his temporary desk an hour before the meeting Harry set up to discuss where on earth Mordred could have disappeared to. It felt like a waste of time to Lucas. So far Mordred had been as easy to find and catch as a wisp of smoke. He’d been running rounds around them and they knew it. Ten to one that was the reason Harry stalked past him on his way to his glorified broom cupboard with a face that could have triggered a hurricane. Not that Ros was much better; she too was already on the Grid, having her face glued to a stack of paper and parchment. Lucas didn’t doubt she had seen him enter, but a greeting of any kind had not been forthcoming.

Even though Jo had been found, it had not improved people’s moods at all. Anger was the dominant emotion; he could almost taste it on the air. And he knew full well that it was not a very professional thing, but he had a feeling that it had progressed beyond professional a long time ago. It had ceased to be professional when Connie had killed Ben. From there, it had only gone downhill.

‘Morning.’ And the cheerful appearance of Gwaine was just about the last thing he wanted to see this morning. No one could accuse him of not being friendly, but when in a serious situation, his insistent happiness grated on his every last nerve.

‘Morning,’ he echoed, not looking up from what he was doing.

If Gwaine even realised that was a hint to get himself gone, he ignored it well. ‘What’s that then, sir Lucas?’ he asked, giving a pointed look at the coffee cup on the desk. ‘Some kind of London magic to keep one going, eh? I’ve tried asking the Lady Ros, but she would not tell me.’

And most certainly Ros’s reply had been as unladylike as possible. She had taken it hard, the whole business with Jo’s abduction, but instead of saying so, she had been all but unbearable. He had even actively tried to stay out of her way for a while, at least until she cooled down. He didn’t think she meant it, but she could be hurtful when she was on edge and he for one didn’t care to be in the line of fire. By asking unnecessary questions, Gwaine had practically painted a target on his own chest. And it was not as if Ros liked him in the first place.

‘Help yourself,’ he muttered. ‘It’s no poison, if you’re concerned.’

He kept only half an eye on the knight as he took a careful swallow and then looked pleasantly surprised, before downing the last remnants still left, which had decidedly not been what he had meant.

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Not as good as ale.’ Surprise, surprise. ‘But not bad.’

Lucas managed a wry smile, but would really rather be left to his own devices. That was the thing about Gwaine; troubles seemed to slide off him like water off a duck. He simply did not seem to care as much. He would do his job well enough and he was a fair fighter – no denying the truth – but it was his attitude that annoyed him. Not that Lucas giving him the cold shoulder had done anything to deter him from trying to become friends with him.

‘Could you go and ask Harry if this map is any use to him?’ he asked, thrusting the aforementioned map into Gwaine’s hands. It was of some interest, but it was nothing urgent, but he needed him gone before he pulled a Ros on him.

When asked, he would be hard-pressed to identify the source of his bad mood, other than another sleepless night and the sight of Jo in that bed. It was nothing more than a feeling that they had missed something somewhere. And the fact that Mordred still walked free somewhere did not sit well with him either.

One thing was for sure: he was not going to find any answers sitting here by himself and so he stood up and made his way to Ros’s desk. With any luck she had cooled her wrath on Gwaine and anyway, she had monopolised the coffee pot, so if he wanted a refill – which he did – he would need to confront her.

‘Morning,’ he greeted.

He heard a sound come from her mouth which with some imagination might pass for a greeting in Myers style.

‘Any coffee left, boss?’ he asked, addressing the top of her head rather than her face; that was still turned down to study the papers before her. ‘Gwaine drank all of mine.’

‘Suit yourself,’ she said, pushing her own cup in his direction. He could only just stop himself from saying he would content himself with whatever was left in the pot, only to realise that the pot was in fact empty.

He took the proffered cup and took a swallow, then grimaced. ‘Ugh, Ros, never heard of sugar?’ Stupid question, though; Ros didn’t do sweet in any aspect of her life. It should not surprise him that her coffee preferences were no different.

She favoured him with as stern a glare as she could muster. ‘You look like crap,’ she commented.

So much for not letting the lack of sleep show too much. ‘Cheers, Ros.’

‘You’re welcome. Any progress?’ To his relief she didn’t feel the need to ask him if he was all right – Harry did quite enough of that all on his own; he didn’t need it from her as well – and went straight for business as usual.

‘Nothing,’ he admitted, braving another swallow of coffee before deciding that Ros was welcome to the rest. There was a limit to how much he needed the caffeine and this was not worth the price. ‘On your end?’

Predictably, the answer was negative, but he had not been expected any different. It was not as if there were any CCTV cameras around here to record Mordred’s every movement and so they had to make do with human intelligence. Jo was their best bet, but the debriefing would have to wait until she actually woke up and whatever their job entailed, they usually drew the line around there. Jo might have been to hell and back for all they knew and the debriefing process would have to be handled in a delicate manner, which meant keeping Ros away from it as far as possible.

‘Maybe Merlin can pull another magic trick that can help us,’ he offered.

Ros snorted. Her opinion of Merlin may have been slightly improving, but all the progress they had made had seemingly been undone when Jo disappeared. Lucas told himself he should not have been surprised; Ros’s good opinion was hard won and easily lost. She’d work with him without complaints, but that was not the same thing.

‘Maybe Mordred will present himself to us with the chains already around his wrists,’ she retorted sarcastically.

‘Wouldn’t that be nice,’ he grinned. This bantering with Ros was just so easy.

And there was a smile tugging at her lips as well, even though she tried to hide it by taking a swallow of coffee. ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ she said. ‘Where the hell is Arthur? Shouldn’t he have been here already?’ It spoke volumes that she did not require after Merlin’s whereabouts. But whether that was because she didn’t care what he did – which would be bad news – or because she was convinced he was hovering over Jo’s sickbed, he couldn’t tell.

At that moment the subject of their discussion came walking into the room. It became obvious at once that he had not been attended by his manservant this morning. His tunic was sticking out of the back of his trousers, his hair gave the impression that birds had been nesting in it and now that he had a good look, Lucas was convinced his trousers were worn inside out.

‘Can’t the man bloody well dress himself?’ Ros muttered incredulously.

The answer to that question was obviously a no.

‘Has anyone of you seen my lazy excuse for a servant?’ he asked of the world at large.

Lucas arched an eyebrow, despite his bad mood and the lack of progress rather amused by the state in which Arthur had appeared. ‘Merlin?’ he asked.

‘Yes, _Merlin_.’ Arthur may be a grown man and a king besides, but he strongly resembled a young boy who was on the verge of a temper tantrum. ‘I wasn’t woken, I had to find my own clothes and I didn’t get breakfast.’

Lucas, who as it was had been in dire need of some morning entertainment after having been visited by Gwaine and drinking Ros’s coffee, could only just stifle his laughter. Ros on the other hand seemed as far from amused as one could get. She was of the opinion that Arthur was old enough to know how to dress himself and fetch his own food. The rest of them were doing it and they hadn’t dropped dead from the effort yet, so it certainly wouldn’t kill him to fend for himself.

‘That’s why he’s so moody, I reckon; he hasn’t been fed yet,’ he stage-whispered to Ros, making sure Arthur could hear it too, but taking care to plaster a grin on his face so that the king would know it was only meant in jest. They needed this too, the lighter moments and they had something to celebrate. At least they had Jo back and they would get Mordred eventually. He had slipped up when he lost Jo – and had lost her soon – so it stood to reason he could more mistakes.

Ros didn’t even crack something that looked like a smile, but Gwaine was laughing – which wasn’t that great an accomplishment as he was finding excuses everywhere to have a good laugh – and Arthur, after due consideration, treated them to something of a sheepish smile.

‘Have you seen him?’ he repeated in such a way that Lucas rather thought Merlin would do better to run for cover. ‘If I discover he’s spent the night at the tavern again…’

Lucas took pity on him. ‘Hasn’t he been keeping a vigil at Jo’s bedside?’

To his surprise, Arthur shook his head. ‘I’ve just been there,’ he admitted. ‘No sign of him.’

This had Ros frowning, and with good reason. The last time someone had mysteriously disappeared, Jo had been kidnapped and with that being only so recently and with Mordred still walking free, it was hardly a guess in which direction her thoughts had gone. _Damn. Not him as well._ But Merlin was hardly the easiest target. Lucas had suspected he would go for the more vulnerable victims first, and Merlin did not fall in that category.

‘Was he with Gaius?’ Lucas asked. ‘Maybe he overslept?’

Arthur shook his head, some worry showing in his eyes, even though the rest of his face was still stuck in annoyance. He cared more than he let on. In that respect, he was very much like Ros. ‘I went there first. He said Merlin had spent the night with Jo.’ At Gwaine’s suggestive grin, he added angrily: ‘Not like that. You haven’t seen him either?’

Lucas couldn’t say that he had and judging by the ever deepening frown in Ros’s forehead, she didn’t trust this development in the least. Lucas too was starting the first signs of concern. In his line of work it was usually bad news when someone just disappeared and it would be even worse if it was Merlin, who all things considered was their best chance of winning this fight.

Not that he was given the chance to voice any of his thoughts; Harry came marching out of his office, sending Lucas a freezing glare on the way, silently telling him there would be hell to pay for inflicting Gwaine on him this early in the morning. He was wholly unaffected by the tentative cheerfulness Arthur’s dishevelled appearance had caused and that the slight worry about Merlin had not erased entirely yet.

‘Meeting, now,’ he snapped. ‘Where is Merlin?’ he added when he realised they were a man short.

‘Not here,’ Arthur said.

Harry’s face suggested he hadn’t the patience to deal with Merlin’s tardiness – if that was what it was – today and gestured for those present to gather around the table that now stood in for the table in their own meeting room. It was only a poor replacement, though. Lucas hardly thought he was the only one longing for a proper meeting room with proper equipment. Doing their job in Camelot tended to give him the feeling that he was entering the game at a distinct disadvantage. The normal methods would not work here.

‘News?’ Harry barked at Ros.

Lucas listened only with half an ear as Ros reported there was nothing to report. That would do nothing to improve moods either. Arthur gave the order to Gwaine to gather the knights and ride back to the place where they had found Jo to gather some more clues, if clues were to be found at all. They were grasping at straws and he was only too well aware of that. By the looks of it, so was everyone else.

Gwaine left all the same, but a little more subdued than he had entered. The mention of Mordred seemed to have set him straight. It would be hard for them, Lucas imagined; Mordred had after all been one of them. And such a betrayal stung. Lucas knew all too well what it felt like when those you trusted turned against you. Despite everything that had happened since, such memories were not so easily erased.

‘You okay?’ Ros whispered. He must have shown something of his unease then.

‘I’m your colleague,’ he replied, the standard answer, because he did not want to talk about this, so deflecting it was the better option. ‘I’m always okay.’

Ros didn’t buy it. ‘You’re my friend and you’re annoying me.’

He flashed her the most dazzling smile he had. ‘I’m doing my job then, boss?’

Before she could reply to that they could hear running footsteps and then the door was thrown open to let Merlin in. That was a relief; at least he had not been made Mordred’s guest. Otherwise though he looked like he had seen an army of ghosts and had only just been able to make a narrow escape. But whatever had happened to him, it had left a bloody scratch on his cheek.

‘So good of you to join us, Merlin,’ Arthur said. His relief had already made way for royal irritation now that his servant was clearly in one piece and just late. ‘Gaius might one day teach you how to tell the time.’

Normally Merlin would have made a witty comeback. He didn’t do that today. ‘It’s Jo.’ He sounded out of breath and in complete shock. ‘She tried to kill me.’

***

Arthur was wrong. This Merlin knew with all his heart and soul. Arthur was as wrong as he could possibly be. Jo was not a danger to anyone, least of all to any of them. _We all thought we knew Morgana_ , he’d said as if that decided the matter, that because there were similarities in how they were found they would act the same after they had been rescued. And Jo was nothing like Morgana.

True, after due consideration even he had been forced to admit that it _had_ been too easy, that Mordred might have let her go for some ulterior motive. He could have realised that Jo was not the way in he needed with Section D and she was not the one he wanted to extract his revenge from; she had barely a thing to do with Morgana’s eventual fall. And it was just a hunch, but he didn’t think he was wrong in thinking that Mordred did not enjoy killing. _I am sorry, Arthur, but you gave me no choice_. Merlin remembered all too well what he had said in the tunnels under London. He did not want to do this, but felt like he had to. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Arthur, so maybe he hadn’t wanted to hurt Jo. If he had as much as a shred of decency left, he would have let her go once he realised it was not her he wanted.

Still, it was only a guess, but Merlin knew perfectly well that his guesses were generally rather good ones. And he liked to think that he understood how Mordred thought. He had rather shown his hand when he had been so reluctant to kill Arthur when he had the chance. No, instead he had left them after shooting Ros and had left them to be killed by a bomb. But he must have known that it would have been so easy for Merlin to get Arthur out. He had been certain to survive. No, Mordred did not want to kill and torture, but felt like he had to. And once Jo woke, he was fairly certain she would confirm his theory.

But he had to wait for her to wake up first and so he passed the night in her room. Gaius had thrown him a look that said he was exaggerating matters, but he had not moved from his spot. And Arthur knew better than to bother him. He could take himself to bed for a night; Merlin was sure he would be able to manage without too much trouble. And else he could summon George to do the job. That would make his day. George’s day, certainly not Arthur’s though.

To be entirely honest, Merlin was not all that sure he wanted to see Arthur at the moment. His distrust of Jo had set his teeth on edge and Arthur was like a dog with a bone once he set his mind to something; there was no chance that he would let go of the matter until he had gotten his way. And Merlin was not in the obliging mood.

He kept busy by cleaning the room – quietly – and wondering about what Mordred could be up to next. It would be a fair guess to say that he’d go after the ones who had really had a hand in Morgana’s demise. That would mean Ros, Lucas, Arthur and himself. It was up for debate if Harry had made the list as well. So far he could only go on what he had seen. It was very well possible that Jo had been forced into giving him a more detailed account of the events that had taken place during Operation Camelot and Harry’d had the operational command, even if he had not been out in the field with the rest of them.

Really, it was frustrating to be so badly informed. Arthur always claimed to know everything while it was Merlin who really had the knowledge at his disposal. Today he really knew nothing. He could try the spying in the water he did sometimes. He’d done it not that long ago during the whole Sugarhorse debacle, so it stood to reason he could do that again. He’d give it a go after breakfast.

Though he was loath to leave Jo on her own, she would certainly be hungry when she woke and that could not take all that long anymore. Thanks to Gaius’s sleeping draught she had slept through the night peacefully, but the workings of that potion would not last much longer and by then he would make sure she would be able to eat a breakfast that was fit for a king.

‘You’re up early, Merlin,’ Sarah, one of the kitchen maids, remarked. ‘Gaius woke you?’ Arthur had been complaining about Merlin’s love for lie-ins all over the palace – never mind that it wasn’t true – and it was a hard rumour to kill.

‘I’ve been up all night!’ he protested. ‘Looking after Lady Joanna,’ he added.

The cheeky grin disappeared. ‘Of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean…’ She recovered. ‘You’re here for the king’s breakfast then?’ Merlin was about to say that was not exactly true, but he was not given much chance to do so. As it happened, Arthur’s breakfast had already been prepared and by the time he had gotten round to trying to explain that it was Jo’s breakfast he was after rather than Arthur’s, he’d already gotten the plate and goblet and cutlery. ‘Be careful you don’t drop it like you did last week; Mary’s going to have your head if you do.’

Arthur might be the king of Camelot, but Mary was the head cook, the queen of the kitchen and she ruled her small territory with an iron fist and woe befall the poor sod who’d get it into his head to venture anywhere near her pies. Rumour had it that murder had been committed over less. That surely was an exaggeration, but Merlin didn’t think it was exaggerated by much. And since Arthur had the habit to go throwing his breakfast around when he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed – which was at least once a week – that resulted in Merlin tracking back to the kitchen to fetch another plate. As a rule, he also got his ears blistered for wasting good food, never mind that the real culprit was the king who was forever out of humour in the morning.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he informed her with a dazzling smile. There would be no dropping or throwing things today, because Arthur would never even see a crumb of it.

Chances were he was looked after by George today anyway and George always seemed under the impression he should serve a breakfast to Arthur that could feed an orphanage for a week. This “scanty” meal was never going to do in his opinion. ‘Thank you, Sarah.’

‘Best get out of the kitchen before Mary catches sight of you,’ she advised him.

Merlin found that was an order he could obey very easily.

‘Merlin!’ The well-known every morning chorus echoed through the hallways when he was only one corridor away from Jo’s room. It looked like Arthur wasn’t looked after by George after all. ‘ _Merlin!_ ’

But he was not intending to go out and face his king only to have another argument about things they did not agree on at the moment. They were not seeing eye to eye about Jo and that was fine; Arthur was entitled to his own opinions. As king it was his royal right to be wrong about matters and still insist he was right. But Merlin didn’t have a stomach for any more arguments, and Arthur would only become more bothersome when he didn’t get his way. Today someone else could play pacifier. Maybe Ros could, he thought angrily, since she appeared to be such good friends with him all of a sudden.

The angry shouting moved farther away from where he needed to go, so he decided to chance it and slip into Jo’s room. Surely she would be awake by now; nobody could sleep through that angry bellowing.

True to expectations Jo was indeed sitting up against the many pillows when he entered.

‘You’re awake!’ he said, pleased. She looked much, much better than she had done before, there could be no doubt about that. ‘You’re not looking so bad…’ He realised that was hardly flattering and tried again. ‘I mean, you’re looking better than you did…’ That was only marginally better, so in the end he settled on a not entirely truthful ‘You’re looking great.’

If he was being honest, he would have to admit that his first assessment of her condition was the most accurate one. She did not look as bad as she had when she had been brought back to the castle, but no one in his senses would say that she looked healthy. She gave an exhausted impression even with some hours of sleep behind her.

The smile she gave him in response was hesitant. ‘Thank you.’

She was quieter than usual too. Jo was unofficial office gossiper, a woman who talked a lot if she was in a good mood, but retreated into herself when she was hurt. And she was doing the latter now. _How badly has he hurt her?_ Merlin did not consider himself a violent person, but he wouldn’t object to some violence directed at Mordred just now. It made him angry that it was either Arthur or him who were under attack, but it were others who took the brunt of the suffering. First Lucas, now Jo. And neither of them had been intended targets.

‘I brought you breakfast!’ he said, holding up the plate for her inspection. Ugh, he sounded far too cheerful for a day like this. ‘I mean, I suspected you would be hungry and I didn’t think Mordred would have fed you well…’

He trailed off when he realised that was not the kind of thing to be doing either, to remind her of the ordeal she had suffered. It was a good thing Arthur hadn’t had him looking after Lucas when he had been brought here, because there was a fair chance he would have screwed that up, royally.

He began again. ‘I thought you would like some food. It’s fit for a king, I promise.’ It was meant for a king, a very angry king who functioned even worse on an empty stomach, but Jo didn’t need to know that. She just needed to eat.

Jo managed a feeble smile, but there was no amusement on her face. ‘I’d love to,’ she said before she bit her lip. ‘But I don’t think I can get out of bed yet, Merlin.’  
It was only when she said so that he realised he was acting like a fool, waving that plate about out of her reach. Well, thank goodness that Arthur preferred to eat breakfast in bed, so he had some experience on the matter.

‘Of course,’ he said, happy smile still firmly in place. ‘Hang on.’

As if she could do anything else. Gaius had said that she was completely all right apart from suffering from exhaustion, but Merlin had not bought that. Arthur had mentioned hallucinations and something must have brought those on. He would find out what, once he was done here and he had found a good place to hide from Arthur’s imminent wrath.

He handed her breakfast. ‘Fresh from the kitchens,’ he declared. ‘Might not be the same as you’re used to from London, but it will do very nicely.’ Arthur complained about a lot of things, but not about breakfast, except when he complained about the lack of it. But then, there usually was only a lack of it because Merlin had bits of it chucked at his head for some minor offence.

Jo smiled and took the cutlery from him, almost cutting into her own finger with the knife.

‘Careful,’ he cautioned, taking it from her and handing it back to her in a way that she couldn’t do herself a harm with it. ‘The cook likes to keep them sharp. All the better for cutting the meat, she says, but she’s been known to keep one on her to scare people away from her pies. Woah!’

He jumped back when the knife missed his face by a hairsbreadth and that was only because he had danced out of its reach in time. For a few seconds it was hard to comprehend the sight in front of him, because it did _not_ make sense. That had been aimed at him and had been aimed to kill. But it was nothing like Jo to even do that.

‘What are you doing?’ he exclaimed.

Jo was up on her feet, breakfast forgotten. She didn’t look weak anymore, a look in her eyes that he had only seen in Morgana’s eyes before today.

_No._

No, this could not be true. But she was holding the knife with every intent to swing it again, and in his direction. She didn’t seem to prepared to answer either. Something had gone wrong here, had been so twisted beyond recognition that it took him completely by surprise. It was too suddenly too. He didn’t understand.

But he had been fighting for his life too often for his instincts to abandon him now. He threw his hand forward and threw her back onto the bed, unconscious. His heart was pounding too loudly and he found he had trouble breathing, but the threat had been removed, the knife lying on the floor where it could only hurt the stone.

_Arthur was right._

That was the first thought that entered his mind once he could actually find air to fill his lungs again. But he stood by his opinion too: this was not Jo. The Jo he knew would never let herself be turned by Mordred. She was too loyal for that. But Merlin also knew that there were ways in which a person’s own will could be taken away and replaced by another’s. That had to be the reason. Because it could not be possible that Jo would ever willingly change so much in such a short span of time.

Breathing was still hard, but he knew that he could not remain here, staring at Jo as if things would go back to normal if only he wished for it hard enough. And so he took the knife, left the room – locking it behind him – and broke into a run right to the temporary headquarters Arthur had given to Section D.

Of course everyone was already present – Merlin vaguely recalled something about a meeting being held – when he burst in.

Naturally, it was Arthur’s prerogative to greet him with as scathing a reception as he could muster. ‘So good of you to join us, Merlin,’ he said. ‘Gaius might one day teach you how to tell the time.’

It was almost instinct to reply to such remarks with a witty retort of some kind; Arthur was practically begging for it what with him hardly being able to get out of bed in the mornings. Today, though he had more pressing concerns on his mind, even more pressing than knowing Arthur was never going to let him live it down that he had been right and Merlin wrong. ‘It’s Jo.’ And it was pretty hard forcing the next sentence out of his mouth. ‘She tried to kill me.’

He was met by silence and complete shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay. Good news is, I’m back to writing this story, so updates will be more frequent from now on.  
> Next time: Merlin and Lucas take a trip.  
> Thank you for reading. As always, reviews would be most appreciated.


	32. Chapter 32

‘She tried to kill me.’

Ros Myers failed to think of other words that would startle her as much. True, she had conceded that something was wrong with Jo, that something about this whole bloody rescue – if it even deserved the name – had been distinctly wrong. You didn’t become a spy if your intuition was faulty and Ros’s had almost never led her astray. Generally she liked being able to back her intuition up with facts, though, verifiable facts. Nothing about Arthur’s funny feeling had been anywhere near fact and so she had kept it from Harry and Lucas. The latter had looked like he was fighting enough mental battles already and Ros was hardly a stranger to going out on a limb on her own. She didn’t need his help and, she realised wryly, he had not seen fit to tell her his suspicions about Mordred either. No matter how much she told herself that she did not feel angry about that – a small voice in the back of her head was thinking more along the lines of hurt that he hadn’t trusted her to believe him – she couldn’t deny it altogether.

But here they were, with Merlin in a state of shock and Jo unconscious on the bed. In many ways it looked a lot like the scene she had seen only yesterday, except now everything was different. Jo had attacked Merlin and while that didn’t stop him from hovering over her like the worried mother hen all over again, there was a tension in the air that had not been there only a day ago.

Gaius was once again examining her, but was becoming increasingly frustrated when he didn’t seem to find anything. Especially the back of Jo’s neck enjoyed his special attention and Merlin seemed to think something could be found there as well.

‘There is nothing, Merlin,’ Gaius said.

Merlin, uncharacteristically, disagreed. ‘There has to be,’ he insisted. ‘It’s not like Jo to try and attack us. And she wasn’t confused about who I was either. She was talking with me like she does and then she was slashing the knife at me. She wouldn’t do that if she was in possession of her own mind!’

Ros found that yes, Merlin did have a point there. It wasn’t like Jo. She knew that her colleague had killed one of her Redbacks captors, so she had it in her to do something like that, but swinging a knife at Merlin was a far cry from that. She _liked_ Merlin, even though Ros found it hard to see his merits. The way she saw it, legend had made more of him than he deserved.

‘There is no Fomorroh,’ Gaius said.

‘What the hell is Fomorroh?’ Ros asked impatiently. This whole magic babble made her feel as if she was at a disadvantage. She didn’t need their commentary to know that whatever had been done to Jo was more than slipping her a few potions to confuse her. This had magic written all over it. She didn’t even care what magic it was, the only thing she was interested in hearing was how to end it and would it bloody kill them if they answered her directly?

Merlin rattled off an explanation that could be summarised as snake inserted in someone’s neck which made them obey the will of the snake’s owner. Apparently Merlin had sampled its delights himself. _Why are they always snakes?_ First Lucas, tortured by one – something he by the looks of him had just remembered – and now a snake that could control minds.

‘Isn’t that bloody brilliant?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘Are they going to invent one with legs next?’

‘I think they call those lizards, Ros,’ Lucas quipped. He forced a grin that he sent in her direction. ‘Or dragons.’

And dragons were another thing she really did not want to think about now. Unless of course that talking lizard had the answers, in which case she only wondered why he wasn’t here already. That was the thing about Merlin; he was determined to waste time on words instead of actions and by the time he got round to do anything about it, he was too late to prevent it from happening. And she did not have the patience for it.

‘There is no Fomorroh,’ Gaius said, sounding distinctly sorry about it. ‘If it had been, I would have known what to do.’ It went unspoken that what did plague Jo was something beyond his capacities as a physician, but it certainly did not go unheard.

‘Then might you tell us what has happened for her or do you want us to die of old age first?’ she snapped. Gaius probably meant well, but that was as much leeway as she was about to give him.

‘I do not know for certain, my lady,’ he said. ‘But there is a ritual of the Old Religion I have heard of, called the Teine Diaga, the sacred fire.’

Nothing about this sounded even remotely sacred to Ros’s ears, but then, Morgana’d had a twisted sense of logic as well. It might run in sorcerer’s DNA for all she knew; it was not as if she’d ever had much dealings with their ilk before and she would have paid good money to keep it that way.

‘And what did Mordred do with this sacred fire?’ Harry was just as unhappy about this as she was; like as not he had heard the deeply miserable tone in Gaius’s voice and, like her, had decided that it could not possibly mean well. ‘Slowly roast her over it?’

Gaius remained utterly unflappable in the face of Harry’s impending wrath. There weren’t many who could do that. Even the Home Secretary and Richard Dolby started moving around uncomfortably when he took such a tone with them. ‘No, my lord. It is a ritual that does involve actual fire as far as I am aware. To the best of my knowledge it required mandrake roots that made the victim suffer the worst of fears.’ He swallowed. ‘Once it was over, their own will had been completely erased. They were slaves of the high priestesses forever.’

What she heard made her blood run cold. Bloody magic, bloody Mordred. And while she was at it, she might as well curse her own inability to _do_ something as well. Why couldn’t Mordred have taken a leaf out of Morgana’s book and have devoted himself to learn the many uses of bombs? Explosive material of that kind was something she could handle at least.

‘High priestesses?’ Merlin asked, puzzled.

Gaius nodded. ‘In the days of the Old Religion these mysteries were only revealed to a handful of female initiates. As I was a boy, I was privy only to rumours, but of course there were always more than enough of those.’

Lucas had started frowning. ‘Sounds like religious fanatics aren’t just our headache in London then.’

Yes, she had noticed the same thing. ‘I’d rather go for another round with Allah’s holy warriors,’ Ros muttered. At least they were in some ways predictable. They operated in a world that she knew and understood, fought with weapons she could fight. This was utterly alien and, although she would rather die a thousand deaths than admit to it, completely terrifying.

Merlin was still going on. ‘But if only female initiates were told how to do it, then how does Mordred know? Last I checked, he was a man.’

‘You’ve been checking that, haven’t you?’ Lucas quipped, but he couldn’t even smile at his own joke and neither could any of the others in the room. This had progressed beyond jokes. This was one of her own team who had for all intents and purposes been killed, maybe not in body, but at least in mind. And the way Gaius made it sound, there was no coming back from this. _Some track record you’re creating, Myers. First Ben, now Jo. And Connie revealed herself to be a black-hearted traitor._

Gaius looked thoughtful. ‘Morgana was one of the last who knew of these matters,’ he said.

‘And we already know he was thick as thieves with her,’ Ros commented.

‘Although not as thick as Agravaine, perhaps,’ Lucas added. And he had cause to know, having spent time with Morgana and therefore claiming the benefits of knowing her as well as anyone could have known that witch. ‘I don’t think she even had another ally when we… met her. She was relying on Agravaine to get hold of the crown. If she was giving it all she had, wouldn’t she have used all her allies at the best opportunity she was going to have? But she never mentioned him. I doubt she would have been teaching him magic that was known only to women.’

‘She might have,’ Gaius objected. ‘There are not many left who know of the old ways.’

And Ros would be forever grateful for that. The sooner this madness became extinct, the better she would like it; less chance of having them show their faces in London and stir up trouble there.

‘Or he would have found one of the few who also knew and asked them to do it for him,’ Ros interjected. She was getting tired of this idle speculation. She needed something to go on. And while Mordred was as slippery as an eel, these others might not be. It was worth a shot anyway. ‘There can’t be that many of them, so we compile a list and seek them out.’ It might be too much to ask of Gaius to give home addresses, but he seemed rather well informed. He was playing his cards close to his chest, though, too close for Ros’s idea.

Gaius dismissed this idea. ‘That would be extremely risky, my lady. The victim’s will is only bound to those who performed the ritual. If Mordred wished to control her, he would have needed to do it himself.’

And one thing was for sure: Mordred would be in no hurry to tell them how to end whatever the hell it was that he had done to Jo. And it was not as if they had any clue where to start looking for him.

‘Who else knows?’ Harry demanded. He was thinking like her then, coming at the problem from the other side. Whoever else knew of this thrice-cursed ritual might also know how to end it and they may even be willing to part with that knowledge. And, if not, there were ways to make them, should it come to that.

It didn’t mean she was about to forget about Mordred, but until they knew where he had gone and what he was planning next, there was not much to be done about him. And she would get to him. He’d made this personal. This was her team he was targeting and it was not as if she took well to being turned into a target herself.

‘There is only one other I know of,’ Gaius said. ‘The Dochraid. She’s an ancient creature of the earth, bound to the Old Religion and with magic at her disposal, powerful magic. She will know, but she is no friend of Camelot, I fear.’

‘That doesn’t matter.’ Merlin was quick to jump at the opportunity. ‘I can do it.’

It should not have surprised Ros that he would be the first to try and do something for Jo. And, him being a sorcerer himself, he might stand the best chance of getting some kind of information. Ros had little to no reservations about levelling a gun on those who’d cheerfully kill her or people she cared about, but they weren’t a guarantee for success when pointed at one of those magical maniacs. And she only got that shot at Morgana because Merlin distracted her. They needed Merlin, much though she may hate it.

It was testimony to how much Harry wanted this to work that he did not protest this offer. ‘Don’t go alone.’ Technically, Arthur was the one in command now that they were in Camelot, but the king himself wasn’t raising any protest, which must mean that this plan had his blessing. If not, they would have heard it by now; Arthur never quite managed the art of disapproving in silence.

‘I’ll go, Harry.’ It was Lucas who spoke. ‘I’ll take a gun and watch his back.’ He conjured up that lopsided grin that usually opened doors. ‘We all know they work wonders on sorcerers.’

Ros did not like this. Or, more particularly, she disliked that tendency of his to throw himself headfirst into danger whenever the opportunity arose. And it was more than just job-first-and-everything-else-be-damned with him. Ros knew what that looked like – it stared her in the face every time she took a look in a mirror – and this wasn’t it. This was still that bloody proving that he could handle the most difficult tasks. As if any of them needed any convincing after Operation Camelot.

She understood, but there were limits. And Lucas didn’t seem to have any when it came to this job. And that this operation had become personal for all of them didn’t help matters along either. _Bloody hell, Lucas._

At the same time not letting him go was not an option either. As it happened, she supported Harry’s order of no one going out alone while Mordred was still somewhere, plotting murder and revenge. None of them should court danger right now. And when it came to accompanying Merlin, Lucas was as good a choice as any. Come to think of it, he was the better choice. Merlin would never let Arthur come after Gaius’s information that the Dochraid – whatever the hell she was – was no friend of Camelot, Ros knew herself well enough to know she was likely to get into an argument with the warlock before more than ten minutes had passed and they needed Harry here. Of course there were the knights to be considered, but Arthur had just sent them out to look for more clues, so they were conveniently unavailable. And that left Lucas.

Truth be told, he would have been the best man for the job even when he wasn’t the last resort. He could abide Merlin’s annoying manners better than she could and he was good in the field. It was just that he tended to ignore his own limitations in order to accomplish his goals that had her worried. _Worried, Myers? That’s the start of the slippery slope right there._

It wouldn’t be if this was just professional worry, but like she had thought already, this was no longer strictly professional. This was personal and she was uneasy on his behalf as a friend rather than a colleague.

But before she could voice any unprofessional objections, Harry had already given it his seal of approval with a curt nod. ‘Make her cooperate,’ he instructed.

‘We will.’ Lucas looked oddly determined, another thing she didn’t like. _He can’t make things right for him if he solves what’s wrong with Jo now._ Life didn’t work that way. If she was being entirely honest, though, she would have to admit that putting a bullet in Morgana had not just been doing a service to Camelot. It had been about revenge for what she had done to Lucas more than it had been about ridding the land of the constant thorn in its side. It had not solved Lucas’s issues, but she had felt better. And if this was what made him feel better, then she would allow it, within reason of course.

***

Merlin transported them close to where the Dochraid lived, but far enough away that they didn’t land on her doorstep. This also provided them with the opportunity to take a good long look at where they were going before they entered it.

As it was, the Dochraid lived in a draughty cave, the entrance of which was almost entirely concealed from sight by bushes and trees that looked like they had not been touched in decades. If anything, this Dochraid was not a very sociable creature. Lucas had not known what to expect, but when Gaius had mentioned that she was no friend of Camelot, he had known he should be on guard.

Still, he hadn’t known what to expect of her dwelling, but now that he saw it, he told himself he should not have been surprised by the shabby state of it. Morgana had lived in a hovel that might as well have been a synonym for leakage and the ruins of the Isle of the Blessed had spoken of much better days in the past, of glory in days long since gone. Uther Pendragon had forced magic into hiding, he knew, and those using it were only seldom wealthy. It should not have come as much of a shock that the Dochraid’s house – if a cave could be called a house – was not exactly a mansion with an estate attached.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked of Merlin when he hesitated.

‘Well, she’s not going to throw us a warm welcome,’ Merlin pointed out, quite unnecessarily. Lucas had gathered already that they would not be welcome guests here. For all they knew this Dochraid was the one who had taught Mordred how to cast that spell that had enslaved Jo’s mind. He for one still couldn’t see Morgana have taught him. If Mordred had been so prominent in her life, then why had none of them heard of him before? It did not make sense.

‘Yes?’ he prompted.

‘Well, it might be best if you stayed here?’ he tried. ‘I can defend myself with magic if she tries to do me a harm, and Harry will kill me if I let anything happen to you, so…’

‘I am coming.’ He was tired of being thought of as weak, as one who could hardly look after himself. He didn’t think they always did it on purpose, but it happened all the same. And it had been worse since Jo had been taken, as if her abduction reminded everyone that he had been Morgana’s prisoner not all that long ago. But he could handle the memories. Morgana was dead after all. And even though he hadn’t told this to Ros, he was grateful for that.

Merlin knew better to protest. ‘It’s probably best if we didn’t tell her who we are,’ he said. ‘Gaius said something like that.’ And Gaius was someone who had a great deal of influence on Merlin. Lucas knew that much. He himself did not necessarily like him much, but he didn’t know him very well either, so maybe he should reserve judgement. ‘She is…’

‘No friend of Camelot, I know,’ Lucas finished. He could only hope the Dochraid had not been acquainted with Morgana. She would best stay very far away from all of this. ‘Let’s go.’

He let Merlin go first. If this Dochraid was unwilling to cooperate, Merlin’s magic would be their first line of defence. This did however not mean he would enter here completely vulnerable. He had his gun and he was willing to use it should it come to that.

The cave itself was just as chilly and draughty as he had expected it to be and, at first sight, empty. There was little light to see by. Most of it was daylight that came in from the mouth of the cave, and they were effectively blocking most of it.

‘Charming sort of place,’ Lucas commented. It was better than admitting that the place was giving him the creeps for reasons unknown. There was something in the air that reminded him of Morgana’s hovel and the Isle of the Blessed. Maybe it was magic, if that was a thing one could sense. Ros would probably laugh at him for being so jumpy about it. He suddenly found himself wishing she had come.

Merlin was clearly on the verge of some witty retort or other, but someone else spoke first. ‘Who dares to enter the sacred cave?’ The voice was old, Lucas observed, very old. But well, it was an ancient creature they were speaking to, so it was to be expected.

Now that he could determine where the sound came from, he could see a human-like being sitting a little distance away. She was the definition of old hag made flesh, he thought, except that there were some strange things about her that Lucas had not expected. It looked like a spider had weaved a web of flesh over her eyes, preventing her from seeing, and she had more wrinkles than any old lady he had ever encountered.

‘We have come to petition the Dochraid,’ Merlin said. His posture was rigid and he kept one hand in front of him to shield them from any possible attacks, but his voice was confident. And that was a novel thing. Merlin was often babbling and flustered in his dealings with Section D, when he wasn’t trying to cover it all up with a huge smile and a lot of words. This confident sorcerer was not someone Lucas had seen before.

‘Give me your hand.’ It was an order, not a request.

Normally Merlin balked at those, but this time he complied without a single protest. Maybe it was some code or other that was used among those who wielded magic, to trust one another in a world where only few others could be relied on. It was much the same in the world he operated in.

Still, all this use of magic made him feel ill at ease. He had seen the good sides of it, but had more than ample experience with the bad side as well. Yet he was not as unnerved by it as Ros, who sometimes became downright intolerable when she had to work with magical threats. They set her on edge because she could not fight them like she fought the terrorists at home. Lucas shared some of her unease – and her loathing of medieval life – but he found it easier to think around the magic and come at the problem from a side that could work for them. And if they had a need of magic for themselves, Merlin was generally available to take care of that aspect.

The Dochraid grabbed Merlin’s hand with a speed and accuracy that belied the blindness of her eyes. She sniffed it, causing Merlin to visibly be disgusted, but he did not pull away.

‘Who is your companion?’ she asked.

‘A friend,’ Merlin replied curtly. ‘We mean you no harm, great Dochraid. We come here in search for answers to our questions only.’ There was… respect in his voice, respect that was owed from one sorcerer to another, perhaps. Or maybe it was because the Dochraid was such an old and powerful creature.

She turned her head in Lucas’s direction. ‘Give me your hand.’

He was tempted to refuse, but Merlin gave him an encouraging nod and he trusted him to keep the danger away from him. He had done so in Moscow and again in London, when the FSB were chasing them, so it stood to reason that he could do that again. Slowly he was starting to develop a measure of trust in Merlin, trust that had not been there during Operation Camelot.

He did as was asked of him and extended his hand, still not sure how this would help the old woman in front of him establish whether or not he was a threat. And the urge to pull away only became stronger when she took his right hand in both of hers and started sniffing at it like a dog would at a bone. Her hands were frail, tough. The skin was cracked and papery and there was not much under it; Lucas could feel her bones.

‘I smell magic on you,’ she said. ‘Powerful magic.’

‘I have no magic of my own,’ Lucas replied, not quite sure of how much he could say. How could one even smell magic? Ros and Harry would doubtlessly call it a lot of codswallop. ‘But I have seen it.’ It had him wondering why she commented on what she thought she smelled on him, which could only be traces of another’s magic, and not on Merlin’s abilities, that must be much more pronounced.

‘You are no friend of Morgana Pendragon.’ It sounded like an accusation.

‘Morgana Pendragon died,’ Merlin said. ‘She has been dead for months.’

‘I know, Emrys,’ the Dochraid said and wasn’t that disturbing? How does she know his name?

He wanted to pull his hand back, but thought better of it. The atmosphere had changed to hostile within the second, but if they played this right, they might still find the answers they needed. Lucas had been in tighter binds over the course of his career. He could play this game.

‘How do you know who I am?’ Merlin had not anticipated this turn of events any more than Lucas had, and seemed equally disturbed by it.

‘I am the Dochraid,’ she said. ‘The earth speaks to me. You are not welcome here.’

‘Why not?’ Lucas felt compelled to ask.

‘You are no friends of the Old Religion. You would see its return thwarted.’ She lifted her face to look at him. Or at least she would have looked at him had she had the eyes to see him with. ‘You have been touched by it. You carry it with you.’

All of a sudden it became much more understandable why Ros harboured such a strong dislike towards the whole magic thing. It was disturbing. His torment at Morgana’s hands was months in the past – which did nothing to stop him from frequently waking up screaming from nightmares – and he did not think that magic could linger like that. But what did he know? He hardly knew anything about it.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘If you know who we are, you will know why we are here. Can you help us?’

It was a guess, but an educated guess. And as long as the Dochraid had the answers, there were ways to obtain the answer, even if he disapproved of most of the ways to find the answer. But Ros did not have the same reservations he had, and neither had Harry.

‘Your friend will find no relief here.’ The Dochraid positively cackled. ‘Her spirit has been consumed by the Teine Diaga.’

Gaius had been right about that then. Not that this sounded reassuring. The old physician knew almost all the answers, so for him not to know the solution was… frightening. Yes, frightening was the word. And that was almost certainly the reason why Ros was so out of sorts as well. That and the knowledge that if there was no cure, they would have to accept that the real Jo was dead and gone. And if that was the truth, there was a stranger in there wearing her face. If there was nothing that could be done for her, then what were they to do with her? None of the available options sounded good because what if the real Jo was still in there somewhere? They would be punishing her for something she had no control over.

He felt a shiver go down his spine.

And of course Jo would hardly be the first officer to return brainwashed from their captor, but this was different. If officers were turned they always had a say in the matter. Eventually the decision was their own, no matter to how much pressure they had been subjected. Jo would not have stood a chance against the magic that stole her mind.

‘You know the solution,’ Merlin said. He had come to the same conclusion Lucas had.

‘You taught Mordred how to do this to her,’ Lucas realised. For all her chatter about the earth talking to her, she knew too much about this. And he was a spy; he had been trained in seeing past bluster. This was no more than words.

And because he was trained to interrogate terrorist suspects he could hardly fail to notice the flash of alarm that crossed the Dochraid’s eyeless face.

‘Her spirit is gone,’ she repeated. ‘Her body is no more than an empty vessel filled only by the will of another.’

Maybe it was because Lucas did not want to believe it that he mentally insisted that this could not be all there was to it. He was not as obsessed with keeping the team safe in the way that Ros was, but there were far too much similarities between what had happened to him with Morgana and what had happened to Jo with Mordred. If Morgana had made a different decision, it might have been him who had literally lost his mind. And if that happened, he would want his colleagues to move heaven and earth for him as well. Within reason of course, as long as it did not endanger an ongoing operation, but he’d want it all the same.

‘Tell us how it can be reversed,’ he snapped.

‘You dare challenge me?’ she hissed. ‘You who come from a land where magic is all but extinct?’

So she knew about that as well? Morgana must have kept her in the loop about her activities then. It would seem that she’d had a lot more allies than he had thought.

And he didn’t have the patience for it. So he levelled his gun on her head. ‘Talk.’

She cackled again. ‘I am the ancient Dochraid.’ _As you never grow tired of telling us_. ‘No mortal weapon can kill me.’

‘That is the weapon that killed Morgana Pendragon,’ Merlin spoke up. There was nothing boyish about him now, and he seemed to stand taller than he did whenever Arthur or Ros were near. Seeing him like this, Lucas found he had less trouble believing that he was the most powerful sorcerer to ever live. ‘She was a high priestess of the Old Religion and could not be killed by a mortal weapon either. Yet it was done all the same.’

‘Your choice,’ Lucas said. ‘You can take the risk if you wish and end up dead, or you can tell us how to free my colleague.’

It was true what Merlin had said about Morgana. A gun had killed her just as well as it killed terrorists. Somehow magic did not work well with the twenty-first century technology. True, Merlin had healed the wound caused by the bullet, but he could swear the spot was still tender. He hadn’t mentioned it to not crush Merlin’s happiness at having managed it, but it did serve as proof that some things clearly didn’t mix well.

This threat seemed to have set the Dochraid straight. She let go of his hand – finally – and crouched back until her back was against the wall. ‘Only the greatest of sorcerers can attempt to break a spell like that,’ she said.

‘Fortunately we have one available,’ Lucas said. And Merlin was motivated as well. ‘Go on.’

‘You will not succeed,’ the Dochraid said. ‘The Druid’s power is too strong.’

 _Oh, for heaven’s sake_. If Ros had been here, she would have done something rash already. As it was, Lucas’s well of patience was rapidly running dry as well. He aimed the gun and shot a bullet that grazed the Dochraid’s arm. It didn’t do much damage, but enough to land the message that he could harm her and would if the situation asked for it again. Given the fact that she was bleeding – was her blood green or was that just a trick of the light? – he assumed the gun had served its purpose.

‘Talk.’

And that she did. Not that he could claim to understand much of what she said. But it involved taking Jo to the Cauldron of Arianrhod – because giving a pool a name that people could actually pronounce was too much to ask – and another ritual that needed to be performed by a powerful sorcerer. To complicate matters even further just shoving or dropping Jo into the water was out of the question, because she had to go of her own volition. To force her would mean that she would never be herself again.

And that was impossible. Jo would never enter of her own free will. She had been enchanted. No part of her would want to be rid of Mordred’s influence now that that had become who she was entirely. There was nothing to suggest that she wanted to be saved. The only glimmer of hope was that there was a solution that he rather thought had been attempted before. Else how would the Dochraid know so precisely what needed doing?

Merlin nodded in respect. ‘Thank you, great Dochraid.’

Giving something that had been given only with a gun against the temple was not something that warranted any thanks in Lucas’s opinion, and so he only nodded and removed the gun. It would have to do.

In hindsight he should have known that the last part had gone too easily. They were almost near the exit when he was blasted off his feet. It was only because his reflexes were good that he could extend his hands to break his fall before he landed flat on his face.

Merlin was quicker. He had danced out of the reach of the blast and was still on his feet while Lucas had ended up on the ground.

And he was quick, nothing clumsy or hesitant about him now. He threw his hand forward and muttered some spell or other that had the Dochraid reduced to a moaning pile of ancient earth creature on the other side of the cave. Then he turned his back on her.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, extending a hand.

Lucas took it. _Remind me to never underestimate you ever again_.

It seemed there was more to Merlin than met the eye after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an early update, but since I'm going on holiday for a week, it seemed nicer to update before I go. Not sure when the next chapter will be, but hopefully soon.  
> Thank you for reading!


	33. Chapter 33

Merlin did not think the Dochraid would follow them once they had left the cave, but thought it better not to linger all the same. She had demonstrated already that she meant them harm and Merlin was loath to let her have her way. Had Ros been here, the Dochraid would have been left dead instead of against the wall. But Merlin was no Ros Myers and he was unwilling to kill unless he had to. Weakness though that may be, it was hard to forget that there were less and less magic users left in the kingdom. And then there was the painful reminder of London where there was no magic left at all. That was what would happen, but he wouldn’t do anything to hasten his own kind’s extinction.

‘What was that about?’ Lucas demanded. He had adopted a very Ros-like facial mask of indifference, but Merlin suspected he was shaken. He had been the same after Moscow.

‘I couldn’t kill her,’ he said, well aware of just how weak a defence that was. Because from a pure MI-5 kind of view he had just committed one of the worst faults he could. He had let an enemy live, one who was in contact with Mordred and who could now inform him that they were on to him.

And he found it hard to explain his reasoning to one such as Lucas, who may not be the school example of the Section D mind-set, but who was infected with it sufficiently. Reason dictated that he would have ensured that the Dochraid would be taken out of the game. She wouldn’t necessarily need to be killed. In fact, he thought Harry would prefer imprisonment over death, since dead suspects could not tell them anything. But so many sorcerers and representatives of the Old Religion had been persecuted and executed during Uther’s Great Purge that he couldn’t find it in himself to harm one who wasn’t an immediate danger to the operation. It was however up for debate if anyone would share these opinions. He rather doubted it.

‘I know she will be telling Mordred what we’re planning, but she is one of the last magical creatures left and…’ He found that he was starting to ramble, like he would when he was passionate about something.

Fortunately Lucas butted in and saved him from his own incoherency. ‘I meant about the magic she said she sensed.’

Ah. That. The truth was that Merlin didn’t have a clue as to what was going on back there. He assumed that it were the remnants of Morgana’s treatment that the Dochraid would have sensed, but he himself had never detected any sign of magic on Lucas after he was back on his feet. There must be some truth to her claims about being an old earth creature after all.

Briefly he had contemplated the possibility that Lucas himself had magic, but he had dismissed that option as soon as the thought entered his head. If that was the case, they would have found out long before now and besides, in theory any old fool could learn magic if only they worked at it long enough. Gaius was someone like that. He had no doubt that even Arthur and Ros could do it if they put their minds to it. That thought however was so completely ridiculous that he almost laughed.

His companion brought him back to the here and now. ‘Is that possible?’ Lucas questioned. ‘That she somehow…?’

Merlin could not blame him for not finishing that sentence, because the thought of having been permanently affected by the magic of one who repeatedly tortured him within an inch of his life was not alluring in the slightest. And Lucas had been more harmed than some in that respect. If the world was anything near fair, it would leave him out of the line of fire for once, but Merlin had learned the lesson that the world was decidedly not fair a long time ago and he had learned it the hard way.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I will ask Gaius.’ He conjured up something that might look like a reassuring smile when he added: ‘But you haven’t felt anything of that, have you? Maybe it is just something she reads, like you reading a file on an operation.’

But it was the great big maybe. Once again it became painfully obvious that there were things about magic that he didn’t know. And most of those things could easily be blamed on not having enjoyed any magical education at all. Of course, Gaius had books aplenty and he had learned a good many things from those, but they were often snippets and loose spells. He had never grasped the greater context of magic and the Old Religion on account of having been banned on the pain of death. And when he was facing enemies who were well-versed in that, he often found himself at a distinct disadvantage. He may be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, but he sometimes found that prophecy was playing a trick on him, because yes, in raw power he may be the most powerful sorcerer, but there were others who had more skill by far. Morgana had been such a person, and so was Mordred. But the worst part was that they were fully prepared to do whatever was necessary to achieve their goals, while Merlin often prided himself in having certain limits, in having principles that placed him above the people he fought. It was one of the reasons why he had such troubles working with Section D.

Lucas nodded, considering the information and then filing it away for future reference. Then his mind was firmly back on the matter for which they had come here in the first place. ‘Jo,’ he said, adopting a tone of voice that was more Harry Pearce than Lucas North. ‘Can it be done?’

That was another question altogether and one that wasn’t so easily answered. At first he had been relieved that there was a cure and while there was a cure, there was still hope. He might have changed his mind on the matter a little though when he heard the requirements that needed to be met in order for the ritual to be successful. He thought his own power was great enough that he might play his part – because who else was going to do it? – but it was the part that said Jo needed to enter the water of her own volition that was potentially problematic. No, not potentially. It was bound to be problematic. Her entire mind had been bound to Mordred’s, so there was no chance that she would even want to be freed. And tricking Jo into the Cauldron would not work either, because that would have been his strategy of choice otherwise. He was good at tricking people into doing things. He had been managing Arthur for years and if that wasn’t sufficient training, then he didn’t know what was.

‘Yes,’ he said, because he wanted it to work. Heaven only knew how they were going to achieve it, but he wanted it to work so badly, so they would find a way. And goodness knew what the spies would do if they found out that there was nothing left of the old Jo, the real Jo? Would they discard her as they would an asset that had outlived its usefulness? Or would they treat her like they treated Connie and ship her off for interrogation, to get to Mordred, and who cared that she got hurt in the process? After all, she wasn’t herself anymore. And he thought the spooks uncaring enough to pull it off.

Lucas only nodded. He was quick enough to question Merlin’s judgement when it came to his area of expertise, but when it was about magic, he accepted that Merlin knew best. Very unlike Ros he was in that. She questioned everything and did whatever she could to make the point that she loathed magic and the people who practised it. And Harry was only a little better. Of all the team Jo and Malcolm – and Connie before, but she didn’t count anymore – were truly accepting him. And with the former Mordred’s puppet, the latter in London and Arthur not in a mood to talk, he felt rather lonely.

‘We should go,’ was the only response he got.

There was no arguing with that logic and so he took them back to Camelot to impart the good news on his allies, all the while wondering how far they would be willing to go for Jo. The way he saw it, it could go both ways. Ros had already proven there was precious little she would not do. Jo herself, back in the day when she was still master of her own mind, had confided that she had betrayed their country twice on behalf of people she cared about, once her father and the other time to get her revenge for the disappearance and death of a colleague. She had no limits when it came to her colleagues – and Mordred had better watch his back now that he had incurred the infamous Myers wrath – but there was no telling what she would do if she believed that Jo could not be brought back. Lucas he could rely on, on account of him having suffered captivity and torment himself, but it was not Lucas’s opinion that counted. And neither did Ros’s if push really came to shove. It was Harry who was in charge of his own team. It could be that Arthur disagreed with such a course of action, but Jo was not his officer.

But that was all idle speculation. He would have to wait until after he had told his news to see what the reaction would be. And that was one meeting he was not looking forward to.

As it was, Lucas took care of most of the talking part. At first Merlin was grateful that he took it upon himself to relay the bad news, but soon found that it was not all that selfless of him as he had thought. Lucas had ulterior motives for playing the messenger, something that became apparent when he carefully omitted any mention of the traces of magic the Dochraid had perceived on him. And if Harry heard that something like that had been said, chances were he would pull Lucas off the op for fear he had not recovered enough after all. And if Merlin understood Lucas at all, that was something he would try to prevent at any cost.

‘Enough of the chitchat,’ Harry snapped when Lucas came to the part where the Dochraid had detailed what needed to be done and failed to give a very accurate account of it. ‘Can we do it?’

The question had been aimed at Merlin rather that at Lucas and so it was him who tried to formulate a reply. ‘Yes?’ Because of his own uncertainty it sounded far more like a question than the decided statement he had planned on making. If he let it show now that he doubted his own abilities, that would not get him very far and he wanted to at least be permitted to have a shot at this. If he failed then, he could say that he had at least tried.

‘Are you telling me or asking me?’ Harry’s well of patience, as in so far present to begin with, was very nearly empty and he clearly had a zero tolerance policy where it came to people stalling.

‘Telling you.’ Hesitating was not that much of an option, so he had to man up and make it sound as though he knew what he was doing. That was not an easy task, but if he didn’t want his friends to give up on Jo before they had even tried, well, that was not much of an option anyway. ‘My powers are great enough.’ It felt like he was boasting, something that felt utterly alien. He was more used to downplaying his own abilities. In all his time working for Arthur he had taken great care to ensure that Arthur would only laugh at the idea of him being a sorcerer. It was safer that way, and his strategy had worked admirably. It was just that now that he wanted them to believe that he was capable of performing that ritual that it was working against him.

‘But?’ Ros must have heard what he hadn’t said. It was nothing short of a miracle that she hadn’t offered any sort of doubt that he was indeed powerful enough. The world must have come to an untimely end then.

‘She’ll have to enter the water,’ he explained, not sure if Lucas had been able to convey that point well enough. Judging by the confused looks around the table, that had not been the case. Now for the hardest part. ‘And she’ll have to enter of her own free will.’

He could see every single face around the table fall. They too must know that this would be very much impossible. And as far as he was aware there was not a single part of her that remained, not enough of her to drag her back from wherever it was that the real Jo had been banished to. And that was considering that there even was a real Jo to get back. Gaius had said something about her own will being completely erased. What if there was nothing left at all?

‘We’ll do it.’

Merlin needed a few seconds to process that it had been Ros Myers who had spoken those words rather than Arthur Pendragon. It was well-known that Ros would go far for her team – something about colleagues being okay – but for her to go far, she needed to believe that there was still something left to salvage. Because he had seen her turn on Connie faster than he could blink. But then, Connie had turned on her first and had killed one of the colleagues Ros had thought so okay.

‘Rosalind,’ Harry started to butt in.

‘No.’ In all the time Merlin had known her, the Section Chief had only interrupted her boss a couple of times. She did it seldom enough to invite general bewilderment among her colleagues when it did occur; usually they were thick as thieves. ‘We don’t give up on our own, Harry.’

Arthur nodded. ‘If we can free her, she could tell us what Mordred is doing, where he is hiding, what he is planning.’ He gave Harry a frank look. ‘And we need that information.’  
It was utterly unlike Arthur to be that sly. The spies must be rubbing off on him. This was not something he would have done a year ago. It didn’t fit him. He was supposed to be a just king, one who could unite Albion and restore magic to the land – horrific prospect of twenty-first century London notwithstanding – but not one who plotted with spies.

Arthur meanwhile monopolised on the temporary silence caused by Harry’s astonishment. ‘I will send a few knights with Merlin once they return. If you can’t spare the manpower to take her there, I will be more than happy to provide it.’

That was a bold move, and a manipulative one too. Of course it was nothing new that Arthur would risk his kingdom for the sake of one person – it was just the kind of person that he was – but that he went about it in such a way, that was a new development, and one Merlin was not sure he entirely approved of.

Harry, in addition to looking mildly impressed, also looked positively furious that Arthur was forcing his hand like that. But instead of turning on Arthur, which might have been unwise given where they were, he directed his attention at Ros. ‘It is your project,’ he told her.

Ros only smiled and so did Merlin. They had won a round. And if they could win one battle, it stood to reason that they might stand a chance at winning the war.

***

It was a feeling of dread that was settling in Ros’s chest while Lucas narrated the events of what had happened in the cave of the Dochraid. She hadn’t liked it very much either when Gaius had begun about the whole Teine Diaga nonsense, which turned out to be not very much nonsense at all. Instead it was a whole lot of bloody and incomprehensible truth. It made her antsy, ill at ease and, above all, made her experience a dire need to fasten her hands around Mordred’s throat and squeeze. Goodness knew he deserved it, and more.

Harry didn’t have the patience for Lucas’s incomplete explanation and turned to Merlin with a demand to know if it could be done or if they were just wasting everyone’s time. The last part of the sentence went unspoken, but Ros hadn’t become Section Chief of the Counter-Terrorism unit for no reason. She knew how to read between the lines.

And she didn’t like the consequences if Merlin’s answer would turn out to be a no. Of course Jo was one of her team and she was prepared to go far for her, but what would she do if there was nothing left to save? She had gone after Zaf when there was nothing to go on, and it had led her to Yalta, betrayal, a near-death experience and a six months exile in Moscow. This time it was unlikely to come that far, because when it came to revenge on the sorry excuse for a knight who was to blame, she was fairly certain she would have to get in line behind Harry. Her boss was very near exploding; she knew him long enough to recognise the signs when she happened upon them.

But what would she do when Jo was beyond hope? Stop wallowing, Myers, that woman isn’t Jo anymore. It’s just a bloody stranger using her face.

And because Rosalind Myers had never been known to hold with sentimental nonsense, she knew she would do what needed doing. She forced herself to see her former colleague as a suspect but potential source of information. And at least one thing had not changed: Jo was still their best bet if it came to getting to Mordred. Not that she would take any pleasure in extracting the information from her.

Bloody hell, what a mess.

Merlin’s hesitant ‘yes?’ did nothing to raise her hopes either.

Well, she supposed she should be glad that there was something of a chance, if apparently not a very big one.

Harry though was still far from pacified. ‘Are you telling me or asking me?’

It should have been something of a relief that Merlin’s reply was ‘telling you’ instead of ‘asking you’ although it was slightly disturbing to hear him claim that his powers were great enough. As far as she was aware Merlin’s powers were not all that impressive and even if they were, he was usually too busy blundering about to make any use of them, which amounted to the same thing.

‘But?’ she prompted when the warlock feel silent with a look on his face that betrayed there was more to this and that it was bound to be unpleasant.

True to expectations the explanation that followed made most of her hope flow right down the drain. It was almost worse to have been given hope and then have it taken away from her. How the hell were they supposed to get Jo into that water of her own free will when she had no will of her own left? That was the great conundrum, she supposed, and she did not have the answer.

‘We’ll do it.’

The words were out in the open before she had taken the time to think them through. But that was just what they did, wasn’t it? Section D looked after their own when they had the chance and getting Jo back was a possible way to get to Mordred, or that was what she told herself at least. If Jo had her mind back, she could tell them where the thrice-cursed Druid had taken himself off to and get him. It might tell them something about what he was planning or who was next in line on his hit list.

Harry clearly disagreed. ‘Rosalind…’

It must have been a while since she last interrupted him in public, but she did it then. ‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘We don’t give up on our own, Harry.’ That was not how she had meant to conclude that sentence. She had been meaning to point out what uses a Jo in her senses would be to this operation, especially if Mordred didn’t know that she had been reverted back to her former self. She had planned to say something about the intelligence the real Jo could give them, but instead she had ended up reminding Harry that they never gave up on their own people. Of course that was true – Harry had moved heaven and earth to get Lucas back, twice, and he had taken her back even when she had betrayed him – but it was far too mushy for her. _You must be going soft, Myers._

Arthur nodded eagerly. ‘If we can free her, she could tell us what Mordred is doing, where he is hiding, what he is planning,’ he said. The look he gave Harry would have been impertinent had he not been the king. ‘And we need that information.’

Ros was torn between being mad at him or being mad at herself. It should have been her who should have said that. That was after all the professional thing to say and Ros Myers was nothing if not professional, unsociable and uncaring. This operation was doing strange things to her and apparently even stranger things to Arthur. When had he stolen her personality traits and had he given her a few of his own? More importantly, how had she missed it?

Harry was still far too mush stunned into silence by Arthur’s uncharacteristic but very true reasoning to offer much in the way of objection. ‘I will send a few knights with Merlin once they return,’ Arthur said, knowing how to make use of the opportunity this provided him with, before dealing the final blow. ‘If you can’t spare the manpower to take her there, I will be more than happy to provide it.’ _If you aren’t willing to help one of your own, I am more than willing to take care of one who is not one of my own people._

It was the person Arthur Pendragon was. He’d risk his neck for people he cared about and people who he in some mysterious way counted as his. But there was more to this. This was manipulative, a strategy Ros herself frequently employed when it suited her needs. But the legends had never made mention of a King Arthur who was cunning. Of course, neither had legend made any mention of the great Merlin being a clumsy manservant to aforementioned king.

Harry was absolutely furious, the kind of fury that sent his blood pressure to the danger zone and made him altogether unpleasant to be around. Of course Ros had more than enough experience with unpleasantness to be deterred by it, but it made dealing with him a trial.

‘It’s your project,’ he told her sternly, as if it was a punishment rather than his seal of approval. They had a chance at the very least and Ros had never been one to go down without a fight.

‘I’ll provide you with an escort.’ Arthur didn’t miss a beat. It made Ros suspect that he had expected this outcome. ‘I’ll find some knights to accompany you.’ He turned to Merlin. ‘Didn’t Gwaine know about your magic?’

There were many things she would be willing to tolerate for the mission’s sake, but Gwaine was not one of them. The jovial knight had been getting on her nerves from the moment she had met him. To have him accompany them on an operation of such importance would be a burden the likes of which she had not seen in a long time. His only redeeming quality was that he was a strong fighter, maybe even better than Arthur. But then, he was not entirely worth the chatter she would have to put up with.

Still, she knew better than to object now that she basically had what she wanted. Gwaine would be a small price to pay. ‘See to it that he keeps his tongue in his mouth,’ she said, which was all the confirmation she was about to give him. She may have to put up with this – and this included vastly more than just the mission they would have to go on – but she certainly didn’t have to like it.

‘Certainly,’ Arthur said. ‘Merlin, you can transport there?’

He nodded. ‘Well, not there exactly. It’s a magical place, so to just appear there would be rude, but I can get us close. But Gwaine isn’t here yet. Should I go and get him?’  
‘And have my men draw arms at you when they see you appearing out of thin air?’ Arthur asked dismissively. ‘Wait till tomorrow.’

Much as Ros disliked the notion, that was a sensible plan. It was not as if there were streetlamps at that place Merlin had mentioned – would it kill the people around here if they invented names that one could actually remember? – and they were losing the daylight. It was not as if they could go there and back with Merlin’s magical whirlwinds and be back in time for supper. But even if that had been possible, she would have to admit that she didn’t have a clue how to get through to Jo.

It was a question that kept bugging her long after the makeshift Grid had emptied and she was the last one there, with only coffee for company. Their rations of the much-needed beverage were rapidly running out, but she needed some of the comforts from home to get through. Gaius had given Jo something that would keep her asleep – and would prevent some more unfortunate assassination attempts.

 _What the bloody hell could Jo care about enough that it will snap her out of whatever the hell it is that Mordred has done to her?_ There weren’t all that many people Jo cared about. It was one of the downsides of the job. Being completely honest with friends and family was almost never an option. That left colleagues. And although Jo was liked well enough – they for some reason found it hard to be angry with her at all – there was no one she was particularly close with. Well, except for Ben, but given that he had inconveniently been murdered by that treacherous cow Connie James that was no longer an option.

And the remaining options did not look very full of potential either. Ros was vaguely aware that Jo’s mother knew that her daughter worked for MI-5, but they were not particularly close. It was something she would keep for a last resort, when all else had failed. Besides, she had no idea how to explain the portal and Camelot to her. Heaven knew Ros would not have believed it herself had she not been caught up in the thick of it.

Which left Arthur – who was dismissed without a second thought – Harry, Lucas and herself. Merlin would be too preoccupied casting that spell to also coax Jo into the water. Lucas hardly knew Jo. He had spent the better part of the last decade playing guest to the FSB and since his return he had been too focused on proving to Harry that he was still a capable field officer to socialise much. The remaining time was spent hanging around her desk. And Harry, although a good boss, was never good in that emotional closeness. The only exception to that was Ruth Evershed and Ros herself had ensured that she was spending her days in exile in only God knew where.

Not that she herself was a much better candidate for the job. Jo had hardly made a secret of her dislike, but it had been Ros who had been able to drag her out of that trauma that had hindered her since her abduction by the Redbacks. It was the shared experience of being women in this job – which was harder than it was for men, as she had brusquely reminded her colleague – that had enabled her to get through to her, but if that would be enough to do the trick this time, that remained to be seen.  
It would be her best bet, though. And didn’t that frustrate her.

‘Is there coffee left?’

Ros was on the verge of informing Lucas that the coffee pot was right there and he had been given the use of two eyes to see it, only to realise that it wasn’t Lucas who had asked the question. Instead it was Merlin who entered the Grid, bleary-eyed stumbling around, giving every impression of having literally rolled out of his bed five minutes ago.

‘Suit yourself,’ she replied curtly. She wasn’t one for small talk even on her best days and her tolerance for Merlin never very great either. She needed him, but her job didn’t require the idle chitchat the real Jo so often indulged in.

‘We can do it,’ he said, ignoring the plain hint that she didn’t want his company. ‘We will bring her back.’

It sounded more like wishful thinking to Ros than an actual surety and she told him so. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on.’

If she was being really honest, it was not his ability that she doubted. After all, that was something he could learn, rehearse and perfect. She on the other hand would need to say the right thing at the right moment and there was a reason there was more than one rumour about her infamous lack of social skills. Give her an assignment undercover and she could do pretty much any type of character, but when it was real, social interaction made the very bottom of her list of talents. And she had never had that connection with Jo the way others had.

‘It will work out,’ Merlin repeated. His insistence on painting a rosy future was grating on Ros’s last nerve. By now she knew him long enough to know that this was just something he did, but good grief, was it annoying. ‘Prophetic gifts in addition to your magical gibberish?’ she asked sarcastically.

The smile lessened in intensity, which was as close to victory as she was likely to get. ‘No…’

She was quick enough to speak up before he could utter the but that followed up his no and was bound to end in an optimistic statement that Ros found she really did not have the patience for right now. ‘Then stop talking,’ she ordered. To signal that this conversation was at an end, she turned on her heels and left him to his coffee.

Not for the first time – and certainly not for the last – Ros Myers wished she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. If you have a minute, a review would be welcome.


	34. Chapter 34

It was a mixed feeling, watching Merlin, Gwaine and Ros ride out of the gate, with Jo’s limp body slung over Gwaine’s saddle like a piece of luggage, Arthur reflected. Something about staying behind went against everything he had ever learned, but it was the sensible thing to do. Merlin, the sentimental idiot, had left the Dochraid alive, which meant that there was every chance that Mordred knew he should anticipate that they would make an attempt to cleanse Jo and undo all his work. Arthur had meant to include himself in the little group going to the Cauldron of Arianhrod, but Merlin had correctly argued the point that Mordred might attack Arthur and Harry had backed that up. And so here he was, looking out of the window feeling completely and utterly useless. Knowing that they might be back before supper – because Merlin and his magical jumping from one place to another in no time at all was pretty useful – did not even help much. Mordred could do the same whirlwind kind of things and there was no guarantee that Jo would even get her own mind back.

Guinevere, bless her, had tried to tell him that she had faith in Merlin, and she didn’t even know what his servant was capable of. There certainly were days when he wondered whether he was the only one in the world constantly underestimating him.

It were the old habits, he concluded. As long as he had known Merlin, he had been nothing but his smiling, clumsy self and no hint of magic whatsoever. Just huge amounts of good luck that he never questioned and why would he? No sorcerer ever meant well for Camelot, so the very thought that one was protecting him was nothing short of absurd. It was a sick kind of joke and why would any sorcerer in the possession of his wits ever do such a thing? It made no sense. It was far more realistic to believe that all his good fortune was just that.

And Merlin was hardly the kind to flaunt his powers in front of Arthur, even now. He might have himself be to blame for that. He had spoken harsh words during Operation Camelot, when Merlin’s distrust of Lucas was at its peak, and although Arthur had been right to have faith in his newfound friend, his words to Merlin might, on reflection, have been too hard. And since he was no more in the habit of apologising than Ros Myers was, he had never expressed his regrets for his own conduct. He had assumed that Merlin would know, as he seemed to know everything else. Somewhere they had lost that easy friendship and it was hard to recover it.

There was a speech that wanted writing and there was training that needed doing. These past few days had been spent entirely too much running around London and sitting on the back of a horse to look for Jo, and it had left him no time to train. And in his current mood he found he needed to use some of that energy to beat the stuffing out of a practise figure or, better still, one of his knights.

The speech turned out to be something of a disaster. It was one of the best kept secrets in the castle that it was Merlin who had a way with words. Arthur was more a man of action and although he could learn the right words to say, it was usually Merlin – mixed with some of Guinevere’s wisdom – who did the real job of writing speeches. Two hours and several pieces of parchment later he decided that it would have to do and that Merlin could give it a polish along with his armour when he came back.

It was a trial putting on his own armour – it was made to put on with someone’s assistance – but he would rather suffer through the effort alone rather than call George. No doubt that the servant could fix it in half the time Merlin needed for it, but Arthur could not put up with his hopeless attempts at conversation for that long. But the delay and the process of trial and failure was stretching his already frayed nerves to the breaking point. He needed to feel a sword in his hand and the exhilaration of a fight. It had always been a tried and tested way of dealing with the many concerns weighing on his mind. To fight, he knew he was alive and capable of doing something. With all these shady games going on around him, he felt he needed a forceful reminder of that.

Of course it didn’t all turn out the way he had in mind. He was almost out when he bumped into Lucas, who was taking great strides getting as much distance between himself and what Arthur guessed to be the Grid.

‘Where are you off to, then?’ he asked, taking in Arthur’s attire. ‘Off to the training ground?’ he added, taking a correct guess as to his destination.

‘Training with the knights,’ he confirmed. ‘You?’

‘Oh, you know, talking to Mordred’s former friends.’ The tone was nonchalant, but it was obvious that Lucas didn’t relish the prospect. The friends he mentioned were the knights who had still trouble wrapping their heads around Mordred’s betrayal. ‘Harry’s orders.’

‘They are on the training ground,’ Arthur replied. ‘I don’t think you will learn much from them.’

But they needed to start somewhere and every snippet of information would be welcome now. There was nothing to go on, nothing to check out. Mordred could have vanished into thin air and he would have left more traces than he did now. At least disturbances in the air were something his London allies could measure with equipment far beyond Arthur’s comprehension.

Predictably, there was nothing of value any of the knights could contribute. It turned out that Mordred was fond of chatter, but it was chatter about sweet nothings that came out of his mouth. He never allowed a conversation to come close to personal matters. The only thing they learned was that his parents were both dead, a piece of information he had let slip once he had been getting slightly drunk in the tavern one night. Apparently he had been shocked at his own words and had refused to speak another word all evening long.

The clue about his parents was the best thing they had heard all day, but useless in and out of itself. Mordred was a Druid and, assuming that the same was true for his mother and father, it was not impossible that they had been killed in one of Arthur’s father’s raids on Druid camps. All it did was give him another motivation for killing Arthur. As if things were not yet hopeless enough.

‘Useless,’ he judged once he had sent his men off to train by themselves for a while before he joined them.

‘Send some men around the Druid camps,’ Lucas counselled. ‘Find people who knew his parents. Find out where he comes from, if there is any family left, where they might be, where they lived if they’re dead. Mordred’s living in the past; he might have decided to take a look around.’

There were days when Arthur marvelled at the spies’ ability to glean leads from such little pieces of information. It was why he needed them, he knew that, but there were moments too when he found their lack of morals when it came to certain aspects disturbing. The way Lucas talked indicated that he had no doubt that the Druids would talk to them. If not, there were ways to make them. It was something that wasn’t said, but he knew that was what was meant anyway. _Everyone talks in the end_ , Ros had told him once. He’d forgotten when, but the point stood. It was their way.

He nodded. ‘I will send them as soon as they can depart.’ Which would be the next day. Provisions would need to be packed, because the nearest camp was more than a day’s ride away. Life was slower here in Camelot than it was in London. It progressed at a better pace, he found. At least here he had te occasional time to stop and think before life’s maelstrom sucked him in again.

‘Harry will be relieved to hear it,’ Lucas grinned. Some of the tension left his face, although there was still something haunted in his eyes. It had been there ever since Moscow and it could be seen in the set of his jaws and his shoulders as well. He looked as tight as a bowstring, in short, as tense as Arthur felt.

‘Do you know how to handle a sword?’ The question had left his mouth before he could stop to think about it. It was not to say that he would find training as relieving as Arthur found it, but it might help some.

Lucas seemed surprised. ‘We have guns in London.’

Arthur took that as a no. ‘You’re in Camelot,’ he said, getting slightly enthusiastic about his own idea. ‘You should know how to defend yourself against knights.’

The other man arched an eyebrow. ‘Just in case I will ever turn on you?’ _Like Jo did_. It didn’t need to be said and Arthur cursed his own stupidity. Lucas was sensitive to such things, but there was fear in his voice as well. Because if Mordred did to him what he had done to Jo, then Lucas would have no control over it as well. Everything that made him to what he was would simply be gone, the very essence of his being stolen by a force more evil than Arthur could comprehend.

‘Mordred is a knight,’ he replied curtly. There was truth in that as well.

He had no further objections from Lucas after that. If anything, once he was reassured – not that he made any verbal confirmation of that – he seemed to find it all strangely amusing. The amusement lasted no longer than a minute or five, when Arthur’s commander self took over. It was almost instinct to fall back into the familiar patterns of drilling the knights. And there was no question that he was the better swordsman, but Lucas was not a bad fighter all things considered. He was more used to employing his fists in a fight when a gun was not readily available and he carried that experience into his sword fighting. It made him for a slightly unpredictable sparring partner, but he held his sword inexpertly and his blows missed certainty.

There was something satisfactory about being able to teach something to Lucas instead of the other way round. They did not like operating in his world, but they could hold their own admirably, giving every impression of not needing the same kind of help he had needed when he had first come to London, the kind of explanation necessary to function there. But there were some areas where he still knew more than they did. Call it salvaging his ego, but he needed that. It felt better to interact with Section D on something approaching an equal footing.

Lucas was a quick study and he had the benefit of keeping his body in good shape. Running all across London to prevent terrorist outrages would do that to a body. He was quick, alert and had a memory that many would commit a murder for. When they started out, Arthur thought that he would relish the pleasure of teaching something new to a friend but would forego the physical exercise he had come here for in the first place. But he was sweating by the time he called an end to it. Lucas looked dead on his feet. There would not have been much rest for him last night, he reckoned, with things being the way they were. He had seen Lucas in the throes of a nightmare himself and all this would have roused memories that would best stay asleep indefinitely. Yet another thing he could blame Mordred for.

Not, mind, that he found it any easier to blame Mordred now than he had found it to blame Morgana. He would protect his kingdom at all costs and yes, he was angry, but there was still some affection lingering, wondering why he had been betrayed again. Hurt spoke louder than fury, at least in the privacy of his own heart. If he ever came face to face with Mordred again, he would ask him why. He needed an answer. Section D could guess his motivations and be right about it, but he needed to hear it from Mordred’s mouth, needed to hear him explain what he had done that could possibly justify vengeance on this scale. He had been changing things for sorcerers, had he not? He was righting his father’s wrongs. And he never had a choice where Morgana was concerned. She was a danger to his people. Would Mordred have had him stand idly by while she wreaked havoc on the land?

But all that idle speculation was just that. In the end, he just didn’t know and he didn’t have the luxury of lingering on the subject. All he could do was fight against those who meant harm to his kingdom.

‘Not bad,’ he commented to Lucas when they put their swords away. Those who knew him would know that this was very near the highest praise he ever gave on the training fields. In his experience it pushed his men to try harder when he implied that they were not yet good enough until he had knights he could be proud of. And Lucas had done tolerably. Not very well, but not as bad as Arthur had expected him to be. If it ever came to a fight with their bare hands, he might even find himself on the losing side.

Lucas nodded.

Arthur meant to invite him to the tavern for a drink – he did go there every now and then, just not as much as Merlin seemed to do – but was stopped from asking that by the sight of a messenger who came running his way, all out of breath. ‘My lord!’

Messengers who brought messages that were delivered in haste never brought good news. It was a law of life itself, Arthur thought. If there would ever come a day when such a message brought news that wouldn’t plunge his land into another crisis, he would throw a celebration to mark the occasion.

‘Yes?’ It was one of the squires he had sent out with the last patrol. Arthur recalled that he was a promising fighter, a bit hot-headed, but in general Gerold was a good sort. He had a quick temper, but didn’t scare easily, which was why the look in his eyes was so alarming. ‘Has the patrol returned?’ They were scheduled to return in three days. This was too quick.

‘No, my lord,’ the lad said. ‘That it, they’re on their way, but I was sent ahead because I am the fastest rider. To deliver a message, my lord.’

He had figured out as much by himself. Gerold was rambling and that was a Merlin-like quality that did not suit him at all. It must have been bad if it had him reduced to this.

‘Yes?’ he asked again.

‘There’s an army at our borders, my lord.’ Gerold finally seemed to have found the courage to impart the bad news on his king. ‘Saxons, my lord.’

He wondered if the air had suddenly chilled so much or if that was just his imagination.

***

The ride was a silent one. Gwaine had been trying to keep up the talking for a bit, but when neither Merlin nor Ros answered and the latter had sent him a freezing glare to shut him up, he had mercifully fallen quiet. Normally Merlin appreciated Gwaine’s tendency to talk and talk about nothing at all; it eased the tension and could coax him into smiling most days. Just not today.

Today he resembled Arthur in a bad mood, he supposed. Of course, bad moods with Arthur were usually to cover up hurt or nerves. Or both. And Merlin was experiencing both well enough to last him for a lifetime. He had been studying the spell he was going to cast in an old book of Gaius’s – one day he would ask how he had come by so many books on magic – until his eyes burned and the letters swam before his eyes. He knew he could do it, but rationally knowing things and really doing it, well, those were two different things entirely and the sooner they arrived and he could do what he was meant to, the better he would like it.

‘Why are we even riding when you can that impressive whirlwind thing to get us there?’ Gwaine asked. His silence predictably had only been temporary. He just didn’t do quiet. It didn’t suit him. And when he was silent he always gave the impression of sitting on hot coals until he could set his tongue to working again. Gwaine was made to see the better sides of life. Merlin thought it nothing short of a blessing to have such a friend. Ros on the other hand did not think Gwaine’s happiness to be his redeeming quality, but rather the one that condemned him.

‘Because the rest of Camelot doesn’t know,’ he replied. If Arthur was serious about repealing the ban on magic, they would find out eventually. Merlin both dreaded and looked forward to that day. He wasn’t anticipating with glee how angry and betrayed some would feel that he had been practising magic under their noses and he had never either been caught or seen fit to confide in them. But it would be wonderful to not have to hide anymore. Truth be told, he didn’t even know what that would be like.

‘And because Mordred may have spies of his own in Camelot,’ Ros added. She gave the impression of not wanting to take part in this conversation at all, so she did it with the utmost reluctance. How Lucas even got her to smiling was the greatest unsolved mystery in all the world, in Merlin’s opinion. If the corners of her mouth ever moved in his presence, they moved downwards, never upwards. ‘Let him think we’re going to ride all the way.’

The plan was to just ride a short distance, until they were out of sight of Camelot, leave the horses and then transport to somewhere near the Cauldron of Arianhrod. Gwaine had not been told that for the obvious reasons: he was not one for keeping secrets he didn’t see the point of in keeping. He had not told a soul about Merlin’s magic, but their route was something he wouldn’t mind telling an obliging ear over a tankard of ale.

‘My lady, you are as clever as you are beautiful,’ Gwaine grinned flirtatiously in Ros’s direction. Merlin deemed it a waste of effort; Ros was immune for anything that even smelled like charm. Gwaine had it in spades, but it had yet to make any sort of impression on the Section Chief.

‘Stop talking and watch where you’re going,’ Ros told him.

They did just that. It was only an hour of riding, but it felt like much longer. Merlin felt like sitting on a hedgehog rather than in a saddle. It had been a mistake letting the Dochraid live. He had known that when he had turned his back on her as she lay moaning on the ground, but he knew it even better now. With her being the one who taught her foul magic to Mordred, it would be safe to say she would have told him what they were planning. At the very least Mordred’s ploy to plant Jo back with them and have her kill them off in his stead had failed, but to Merlin that did not matter much as long as Jo’s will was still bound to Mordred’s. It wasn’t a real victory until that had been accomplished.

Right now Jo was hanging over Gwaine’s saddle, out cold. They were under orders to have her remain asleep until they were at the Cauldron. It would be easier that way. It was only when they had arrived at their destination that they would need to start worrying about what was to be done there.

Of course they had to get there first. And that being his main priority, he guided them to a relatively secluded place in the woods. Of course there was always a chance that they were followed, but it was a risk they needed to take. The worst that could happen was that they would find their horses gone upon their return, but there were worse fates that could befall them. If truth be told, if stolen mounts was the worst that would happen to them today, he would count himself lucky.

Ros had gone entirely quiet, her face schooled in an expression of utmost disdain. Given how she had reacted when he had transported her to Camelot he could not fault her for not looking forward to this trip either, but it was the quickest way and if their little ruse worked, Mordred might think he had a few days before they would get to the Cauldron.

It was a mite bit tricky to take three people with him, despite the fact that one of their number was sleeping. He had taken two with him at most and that had taken a lot of concentration already. But well, he was supposed to be the most powerful warlock; it was time he started acting like it. Gaius said he should have more faith in himself and maybe he was right. He would never pull it off if he believed he didn’t have it in him.

So naturally it went off without a hitch. Well, almost.

‘Merlin, mate, where has my cloak gone?’ Gwaine was looking around him in bewilderment. And it was true; his cloak had disappeared. In all likeliness he had left the thing behind because it had been out of reach somehow. But it was a blunder, one that could have been a whole lot worse if it had been a limb or, worse, a head. It was a forceful reminder that magic had its limits and that just because he was the most powerful warlock, this did not mean that he would not have to bow to certain rules.

He ventured a guess. ‘Still with the horses?’ To soften the blow he threw in an apologetic smile. It was only a cloak after all, so Gwaine could get a little cold at worst.

‘It’s cold up here.’ It was as though the merriest knight of Camelot had read his thoughts.

And so it was. The Cauldron of Arianhrod was high up in the mountains and there wasn’t much by way of shelter. It was just bare rock and those few plucks of grass that had braved the harsh and icy wind. Not that they were strictly speaking at the Cauldron yet. They would have a little way to go yet.

‘Sorry,’ he said, before taking charge, a novelty in itself. ‘That way.’

Ros’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded. ‘Have you been here before?’

That wasn’t the case and he told her so. But quite apart from it being logical that their path led further up – according to Gaius the Cauldron was at one of the highest points in the mountain range – he could feel it. It was not something defined. It was just a little tug at the edge of his mind, alerting him to a source of magic nearby. He just knew. But knowing Ros and her thorough dislike of making decisions based on feelings instead of facts, he only said: ‘Well, it’s high up. It’s not going to be down there now, is it?’ If something of his impatience and frustration seeped into his voice, that was entirely accidental. And it was not as if Ros was a paragon of manners even on her best days, so she was not in a position to lecture him about his.

Ros only nodded. If there was going to be a verbal reply, she reserved it for another moment. It were the nerves, he thought. She had laid claim to the “honour” of coaxing Jo into the water on account of Merlin being too busy performing the spell. While she made a good point, there were not many people who would be less suited to that job than Ros Ice-cube Myers. Jo had never made a secret of her dislike of the Section Chief either, so how Ros was planning on getting through to her, that was something of a mystery. They were nothing at all alike.

Gwaine took it upon himself to carry Jo. He might joke about everything and everyone, but he was devoted to his job to when push really came to shove. And he treated Jo with the greatest respect. And it made sure that Ros and Merlin had their hands free to defend themselves in case Mordred crossed their path. Gwaine may be the best fighter with a sword, but Mordred didn’t need swords. So he would be better fought with magic and possibly bullets.

‘Stop there, Merlin.’

It was as if thinking about him had summoned him. One moment the road had been clear, the next he was there, blocking it.

‘Mordred,’ he acknowledged.

He could not have been further removed from the harmless little Druid boy he had once been. He had ditched his Camelot armour, showing his true colours. Not that his armour betrayed any particular allegiance at the moment; all of it seemed to have been cobbled together from various sources and none of it looked new.

‘I can’t let you do this,’ he said.

Ros muttered something that sounded like ‘Yes, you can, unless you want a bullet in your skull’ but Merlin was quite convinced it would not be that easy. Mordred had magic after all and if he knew how his former ally had died, he would take great care not to take his eyes off that gun. If he was really clever, he would take Ros out first, because there was no chance that she would lay down her weapon as long as Mordred hovered nearby.

‘It doesn’t have to be this way,’ he heard himself say. How had this ever gone wrong so much? ‘Arthur took you in, trusted you!’ And that trust had run deep; nothing what he had said had even gotten through to him, because Arthur reckoned that distrusting people without solid proof to the contrary was one of the greatest crimes in the world. He ignored the small voice in the back of his head saying that Arthur had done exactly that with Jo, though. He squashed the other voice that said that he had been right in suspecting something was amiss too.

‘But you never did, did you, Emrys?’ Mordred was equal parts sadness and resentment. ‘We sorcerers should stick together, but you, you allied yourself to the son of the man who murdered our people like pigs for slaughter! How could _you_?’

‘This isn’t just for Morgana, is it?’ Ros asked sarcastically. ‘Mummy and daddy died under Uther, did they?’

She had been quick, Merlin had to admit, but since the observation had been made in true Myers style, it was bound to enrage Mordred. ‘You know nothing about it!’

Merlin wouldn’t be too sure about that, though. There was a lot he didn’t know about Ros Myers, but he had heard her say something about families messing with your head and that rather sounded like it came from her own experience. Not that he was privy to the specifics, but still.

‘Save the melodramatics,’ she snapped, as if he was a disobedient officer she had every right to take to task. ‘Move out of the bloody way.’ When Ros got angry, her language became a lot saltier too. In that thing, she resembled her boss quite a lot.

Mordred only reacted by thrusting his hand forward and blowing Ros off her feet before she had a chance to pull the trigger. The gun itself landed a couple of yards away from her. And it was hardly a great mystery who Mordred would target next. Gwaine was after all not in a position to do much defending on his own, what with him being the one to hold Jo.

And he could not allow that. He may have failed in the tunnels of London because Mordred had been too quick in getting away, and he had promised himself it would not come to that again, so this time he would act instead of standing by, hesitating until it was too late. He had done that one time too many. And no matter how hard he tried, he found it hard to forget Lucas’s warning. _Then accept the fact that someday somewhere someone will kill your king._ And that was a risk he was not prepared to take. He would take a gamble if he needed to – his alliance with Section D had been such a gamble – but he would not take it with Arthur’s life on the line or the lives of any of his friends. Ros was not exactly a friend of his, but she was a good intelligence officer and she might prove needed. Besides, Arthur seemed to like her. If he needed any proof that Arthur’s mind worked in mysterious ways, that was doubtlessly it.

Mordred was still facing Gwaine with the obvious intent to take him out of the game as well, but that was not going to happen as long as he had a say in the matter. Time almost seemed to slow down in his mind, granting him just enough time to throw his own hand forward and blow Mordred off his feet. There was only a small measure of satisfaction in doing so. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still had that image of a young and frightened little boy that needed to be saved, but that was years ago and that little boy was long gone. It was about time he accepted that.

‘Come on, Ros, we can’t spend all day lazing about,’ he said in a brilliant imitation of Arthur’s most commanding self. He had been able to accomplish something where she had failed. That had to be a novelty.

‘What do we do with him?’ Gwaine asked. All joviality seemed to have abandoned him for a moment. Mordred had been a fellow knight for a time, so it was only natural he didn’t champ at the bit to do him a harm. And it went against the grain to kill an unconscious man.

‘Arthur wants to talk to him,’ he said. Well, he would, Merlin supposed. He had that need to understand why people acted as they did. He had gone down to the dungeons to talk to Agravaine too before he had him executed. ‘We can leave him here until we are done at the Cauldron. He won’t wake up for a while.’ Not after hitting his head that hard, he wagered.

Ros still insisted, after she had been helped to her feet by a chivalrous Gwaine, to tie him up, just in case. It was something he ought to have thought of himself, but he only nodded and let Ros first tie his hands behind his back and then tie him to an obliging rock. He was tied up so tight, he would not get out of this easily. Well, unless he used magic, something he didn’t remind Ros of for the obvious reason; he liked his head attached to the rest of his body.

‘Let’s go, shall we?’ he suggested.

It was a sign of just how nervous Ros was that she didn’t slap him down for that comment. Truth be told, the trickiest part had yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!


	35. Chapter 35

‘What the hell do you mean, there are Saxons?’ There was something very unnerving about Harry Pearce when he was faced with news he didn’t like. Arthur knew this, but the squire Gerold was positively shaking in his boots. And Arthur knew that he could be impressive when his anger was woken, but Harry, even though he wore no armour and wielded no weapon save his own tongue, induced a reaction that suggested he had been confronted with the most deadly of magic.

‘Were you seen?’ Arthur asked, diverting the boy’s attention from Harry towards himself. He was still the king and there was no telling if this matter with the Saxons was something that concerned MI-5, but it was a lot of coincidence that the Saxons stirred themselves just as this crisis with Mordred took place. They had not moved against Camelot for decades, knowing it was too well-defended. If they had needed a reminder, they should go and ask King Lot what had become of his brother and his supposedly immortal army when they had tried to take over Camelot. So for them to move now, when the kingdom was stronger than it had been for a very long time, they had to have something on their side that they thought would enable them to be victorious.

He could only pray that the something was not Mordred. He feared that it was.

‘No, my lord, I do not think we were.’ Gerold sounded only marginally more confident than he had been when he had talked to Harry. ‘We observed only. There were too many to take on with just our patrol.’

Thank goodness that Percival had sense. They would have at least a bit of advantage left as long as the Saxons remained blissfully unaware that Camelot knew they were coming. And they had not even crossed the border yet, well, not in great numbers. The people in the outlying villages had seen scouts, which they had reported to the patrol from Camelot when they came along. If he had understood Gerold well, Percival had ordered that they find out if there was any truth to the rumours. It turned out that there indeed was. And when there were scouts, the army itself was usually not far behind.

Could it be? Could Mordred really have something to do with this? It was only too easy, too tempting to link one crisis to the other simply because they occurred at the same time, but it didn’t have to be that simple. Arthur scoffed at his own choice of words a second later. No, linked or not, this was one of the most complicated situations he had the misfortune of encountering. The only reason why it mattered if they were connected or not was if Section D would be involved. Because if Mordred was behind the Saxon invasion, Harry Pearce and Ros Myers would be fighting each other for the chance to do something about it first. If not, then this problem was for Camelot to deal with. It was no business of MI-5, although Arthur liked to think that they were owed some help after his part in the Sugarhorse business and later with Tiresias.

‘Thank you, Gerold. You may go.’ There wasn’t much more that he knew, so there was no point in him staying here. And they had things to discuss. Because there was one thing Arthur was certain of: he was not about to let these Saxons march into his kingdom and let them take what did not belong to them.

Harry sported a long-suffering look and Lucas had gone very pale and very quiet, reminding Arthur of how he had looked after the market bombing when he feared that Merlin and Jo had been blown to pieces along with whoever had been within the blast range. He supposed that at least for now he should count it a blessing that Ros was nowhere near. He had a suspicion that she would have washed her hands off it all and that was it.

There was an exchange of looks between Harry and Lucas. Lucas’s was questioning, as if asking for approval, and Harry, although rather displeased, nodded.

Before he could start wondering about what it meant, Lucas spoke. ‘It’s Mordred.’

For a moment he didn’t know what to say. How could he know? That was the most prominent question on his mind. How could Lucas – and Harry too, by the looks of it – have deduced that from so little information? They were not magical that they could have found it in some mysterious way that involved flashing eyes, the kind of thing that he found rather disturbing about the whole business.

‘How do you know?’ The best way to find out was to ask. And he had at least the good sense not to ask if they were certain. That would have been a foolish question; anyone with eyes could see they were. Harry especially had not been in the joking mood lately. He would not find this a laughing matter either.

By the looks of it, Harry wasn’t going to talk, so he automatically turned to Lucas for the answer.

Lucas didn’t disappoint. ‘We did mention that you were legend where we are from?’

Of course he knew. He had been told after all, but after that he’d hardly spent much time thinking about it. There was always something far more important taking up all his thinking space. And it wasn’t as if he was treated with any kind of special treatment when he was with his London friends. Only Nicholas Blake and Richard Dolby gave any sign of being effected and even then they were only very nervous in his presence. So much for legendary status.

It was only now that he truly began to realise that for them he was history, all done and dusted, a figure who lived and died in centuries long gone. They were never meant to meet, but thanks to Morgana, they had. It made him wonder how Lucas and Harry saw him. On one hand they were dealing with a living and breathing man, but at the same time they must be aware that he wasn’t meant to be alive in their world. Never mind prophecies and fates and all that vague talk. It was history that was so hard to argue with.

‘This is history to you,’ he said. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden. If this was history to them, it must be big. Why else would they still know after all these centuries?

‘Legend,’ Lucas corrected. ‘And there are so many versions of it that no one can actually tell what really happened.’ Arthur had the distinct feeling he was trying to offer some form of comfort.

And while this was a relief, it didn’t ease his mind altogether. ‘But if stories survived, there must be something true.’

‘It mentions a battle,’ Lucas agreed. ‘And Mordred’s involvement. I seem to remember the Saxons had something to do with it. At least in some versions.’

Harry nodded, but didn’t offer a verbal reply in addition. He gave the impression of not wanting to be here. Arthur felt the same; he didn’t want to be here either. The last time he’d had an invasion on his hands, he hadn’t been there for the actual invading part, traipsing around Cenred’s kingdom in search of the Cup of Life. And the time before that he had only been the prince. Of course, he had done most of the commanding on account of his father being unwell, but it was not the same, not the same at all. Now there was no one to fall back on.

Suddenly, he really missed Merlin.

‘This isn’t your war,’ he forced himself to say.  
It was unfortunate enough that it all coincided, but this threat was his to fight off. They owed him nothing. They had their own people to look after. True enough, Arthur and Merlin had offered their help with the Russians, but that been different. They had been visiting anyway. Harry and his team were only here to get Jo back and then they would need to return to London. It was highly unlikely that the Russians would be done fuming about their foiled plot to raze the city to the ground after all.

The frown in Harry’s forehead deepened. The look he unleashed on his surroundings in general and on Arthur in particular suggested he had been gravely offended. It also hinted at a very deep-rooted unhappiness to be in this situation at all. Again, Arthur knew exactly what that felt like.

‘Unfortunately, it is,’ he said eventually.

Now it was Arthur’s turn to frown in an entirely unflattering manner. ‘But the Saxons…’

‘Are probably working for Mordred,’ Harry finished. ‘And we already know that Mordred isn’t above taking his petty vengeance to good old London town.’ He gave the King of Camelot a stern look. ‘I don’t want to explain to the Home Secretary why there is an army of medieval Saxons marching on the city.’

Remembering Nicholas Bake, Arthur could only agree with that. He didn’t like the man, but neither did he wish him into an early grave because of heart failure.

Still, he didn’t think Harry really knew what he was offering. ‘What about the Russians?’

‘They are licking their wounds,’ he said. ‘And they will be delighted to go for another round as soon as we’re back in business, I’m sure.’

Arthur didn’t ask any more questions. It would be stupid to turn down an offer of help when he could use all the help he could get. He had a nagging feeling that this was still about revenge as much as it was about national security. In Harry, they were two priorities warring for dominance. The latter won most of the time, but perhaps not all the time. It was hard to be sure with him anyway. Well, it was hard for Arthur, not so much for Lucas; he looked singularly unsurprised.

‘I’ll brief the council,’ he announced. He had a feeling Harry was best left alone for a while. Arthur didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about other people’s feelings – if he was really honest, that was mostly at the bottom of his list of priorities – and he hadn’t much of an intuition to guide him in that department, but even a fool could have noticed that the past few days could not have been easy on Harry Pearce. Locked up, interrogated, betrayed, hunted down… Most people didn’t experience all of those in one lifetime, never mind it all happened to them in the span of a couple of days.

‘Need some company?’ Lucas asked, smile firmly fixed in place. It was a fake one; it didn’t reach his eyes.

He would never ask for company, but he wouldn’t turn down the offer either. ‘I’m lacking someone to chat my ears off,’ he said.

He really, _really_ missed Merlin. It was fine to admit to that in the privacy of his own mind, where nobody could hear him. He missed that incessant chatter, those wide smiles and that silly banter. On days when he felt like he was drowning in responsibilities too heavy for his shoulders to bear, it was generally his manservant who kept his head above water. And there was wisdom there as well, and an almost blind faith in Arthur’s abilities. And right now, he could do with any or all of the above. Right now, he could really use his best friend here beside him.

Not that he objected to Lucas’s presence at all, but the longer he was in his company, the more he began to feel that there were things the spy was not telling him. That was a thing he recognised. Merlin had been unsurpassed in the art of not telling things and although it had taken Arthur a good long while before he figured it out, by now he knew all the signs.

‘What aren’t you telling me?’ he asked. The frown he felt forming on his forehead must have been absorbed from Harry. Too much time in Thames House to be sure. But then, he’d had a lot of reasons to frown lately.

Lucas had retreated deep into his own thoughts and visibly started when Arthur talked to him. ‘Sorry?’

Arthur repeated the question.

The shutters came down. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ was the curt answer.

The reaction reminded Arthur of Ros when topics got too personal for her taste. She shielded herself and gave answers that consisted of short sentences, as in so far the recipient didn’t have to deal with her one-word replies or her icy silence first. Lucas was usually more open, or he appeared more open. It was only when he really thought about it that Arthur realised he still didn’t know very much about him at all. It was rare that he pulled a Ros Myers, though. And trying to extract information from Ros was an experience similar to pulling teeth: painful, time-consuming and met with the utmost resistance.

Part of him was tempted to leave it there. Finding the right balance with Section D was still an experience akin to walking along the edge of a cliff in a thunderstorm; if you weren’t hit by the lightning, you were sure to fall off the cliff instead. There didn’t seem to be a way to do it right.

‘ _Lu_ cas.’ He found that names with just the two syllables were extremely well-suited to that tone he took with Merlin when his servant was doing the exact same thing. Not that it was bound to have the same effect, but one could live in hope.

Judging by that half-smile, Lucas knew exactly what he was trying to do. ‘I’m not Merlin, Arthur.’

‘You’re filling in for him,’ Arthur announced. Probably not in the chores department, but in the role of friend, yes. He needed friends about him for the time to come, people he could trust. And if he couldn’t trust Lucas North, then who could he? ‘Now stop stalling like he does when he’s dropped an expensive vase.’

The smile widened. ‘That happened, did it?’

Oh yes, that had happened. It was a gift for a visiting lord and the only thing Merlin had to do was to carry it the length of one corridor without dropping it. Of course, that hadn’t turned out very well, ending with Merlin tripping over his own feet, dropping the wretched thing in front of at least a dozen witnesses. If no one had seen him, he could at least have mended it magically, but of course they’d had no such luck.

A few years ago Arthur might have been distracted. However, having a few years of Merlin experience under his belt had its advantages. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ he repeated, nice and slow this time.

He didn’t know if he should be relieved when he, to his surprise, got an answer. Normally, if the spies really wanted to keep a secret, they kept it and nothing and no one could make them part with their knowledge.

‘Something the Dochraid said,’ Lucas answered. He was rubbing the back of his neck as if he was fighting a headache. ‘Said she sensed, no, smelled magic on me. That I was touched by it, carried it with me, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.’

For some reason, it didn’t sound like a positive development to Arthur either.

* * *

 

The Cauldron of whatever the hell its name was – Ros kept forgetting – was situated high up in the mountains. As a consequence it was cold, too cold for either Ros’s jacket or Gwaine’s cloak-less state. If Merlin was bothered at all, he didn’t show it and Jo was still unconscious. Gaius had given her something to keep her that way. Ros didn’t know what it was, but even if she had known, it wouldn’t have meant anything to her. There was a reason she hadn’t so much as considered a career in medicine.

Which was ironic given the fact that she was supposed to be the bloody cure for what ailed Jo. And there was no getting around it now. She had spent all of last night and the best part of the morning trying to think of a way to reach Jo, so that she would step into that pool of her own free will and had failed to come up with anything resembling a solution. And while improvising on an operation was something she did with one hand tied behind her back, improvising on the personal field was a disaster waiting to happen.

‘We’re here,’ Merlin announced unnecessarily, confirming Ros’s longstanding suspicion that he liked to hear the sound of his own voice.

‘Did you ever think to join the Service?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘You’d get top marks for observational skills.’

She pretended not to see Merlin’s would-be glare and instead took in her surroundings. The Cauldron was in the very middle of a desolate area, too high up for trees and any other form of plant life you didn’t need a microscope for to see them. _On the bright side, they won’t run out of rocks any time soon_. Or water. The pool itself was a very bright blue and looked extremely deep and extremely cold. Ros wouldn’t walk into it when she was in her right mind, so how in the world was she supposed to get Jo in?

Of course, if she sent Gwaine in there, he could flirt with her until she got so mad she needed to slap him and then Merlin could cast the spell that was supposed to undo Mordred’s work. _There’s a thought_. That however might count as subterfuge and according to the old crone of the cave Jo had to want to be free of the magic in order for this bizarre John the Baptist ritual to work.

The longer she was around all of that magic, the more illogical she found it. Who cared how Jo got into the pool as long as she got in it? Well, Merlin and something called the Old Religion apparently. And since Ros wasn’t about to take any risks with her officers if she could help it, that plan was dismissed.

‘What now?’ Gwaine asked. He was still carrying Jo in his arms and was starting to give off signs that he was starting to find her rather heavy. Well, he would, having carried her from the point where Merlin had landed them all the way to this place.

‘Put her down by the pool.’ Merlin was shuffling his feet, looking altogether rather nervous suddenly. Ros wholly approved of his reasoning: the closer, the better. ‘Gently.’  
Gwaine, as ever, had no sense of propriety to speak of and managed a wide grin in response. ‘I’m always gentle with a lady.’

Merlin grimaced. ‘I don’t want to know.’

Gwaine turned his gaze to Ros instead.

‘Save it,’ she snapped at him. She understood why Arthur wanted him to accompany them here. After all, he was the one knight who knew about Merlin’s magic and they had needed a third member of their little band, but for heaven’s sake, could he be a little less cheerful about it? It was bad enough that she didn’t have a solid plan for this, especially now that she was out of time. And hanging around here for long was not an option.

Merlin looked at her. ‘Do you know what to do?’

Ros snorted. ‘Convince her to walk into the water of her own will,’ she repeated dutifully. ‘No subterfuge, no force.’ The theory of the thing was simple enough to understand.  
Merlin nodded. ‘It’s not going to be easy,’ he warned her. For once he did not appear clumsy and uncertain. He, so very unlike Ros, knew what he was dealing with. She’d seen it a couple of times before, usually when magic was the topic of discussion. At least in that field he was the unquestioned authority and she was thoroughly out of het depth. A reversal of roles if she ever saw one.

‘Do you have to keep stating the bloody obvious?’ she demanded. She’d sooner surrender herself to the CIA than admit to nerves, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

‘The magic that binds her will fight against your every attempt,’ the warlock continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Ros glared at him. ‘Do we have a chance at all or did we just make that hike only to give Gwaine some exercise?’

At last, she’d managed to ruffle some feathers. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you must reach the part of her that has remained untouched by Mordred’s magic.’

‘I thought you said there was nothing left of her?’ That was what she had been told, that Jo herself had been erased, that in her place was Mordred’s puppet, someone who was just an extension of him, wearing Jo’s face to fool them. Not that it had worked. ‘How am I going to reach her?’

‘Reach that part,’ Merlin instructed. ‘You must believe that she is still in there somewhere.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I think she still has her memories, but that she is looking at them with Mordred’s views and beliefs. You need to find something she feels so strongly about that Mordred has been unable to twist it.’

 _In that case, you should be the one doing this._ As violently as they both denied it, Ros had been unable to shake the idea that there was something going on between them. They were forever seeking out each other’s company, laughing and talking. If anyone could get Jo back, it would be Arthur’s servant boy, much as she hated to admit that. But Merlin needed all his concentration to cast the bloody spell. Of course, no spell would be cast if Ros didn’t get her colleague into that pool first.

‘I’ll need to take off the blinders,’ she nodded. There was an idea tugging at the edges of her mind, an angle she might be able to use. It wasn’t her best bet by a long shot, but at the moment it was her only bet. _So get a move on, Myers_. ‘Can you wake her?’

She got another nod. ‘Are you ready?’

Ros deflected the tentative attempt to help her. ‘Are you sure _you_ are?’ She was as ready as she was ever going to be. And it was either this, or take Jo out of the game entirely. Ros rather preferred the first option.

He looked offended, but did not offer any comment. There was that look in his eyes that Ros did not like, a look that told her he understood more of her than she was comfortable with. So much for thinking she had kept control of her emotions.

‘Gwaine, make sure she doesn’t run,’ she told the knight. She might as well find a use for him while he was here. And she could try to persuade Jo until she dropped, but it would be no use if Jo bolted before then. ‘Merlin, wake her.’

Bloody magic, bloody Mordred. This was just one of those days she wished Morgana had never created that portal in the first place.

Merlin knelt down, muttered some gibberish and did that thing with his eyes before he rose to his feet again. For a moment it looked like nothing had happened at all, but then Jo’s eyelids fluttered.

Ros exchanged a look with Gwaine, silently threatening him with dire consequences if he messed this up. So far the knights of Camelot had not impressed her much. What she wouldn’t give to have some proper backup.

True to expectations, Jo got to her feet and glanced around for the nearest exit, which Gwaine was conveniently blocking.

‘Where am I?’ Her voice was shrill. ‘What have you done to me? Ros?’ Pleading blue eyes were directed at her and Ros was taken back to the roof of Thames House, where she had shown Jo the photographs of her dead tormentor.

‘Calm down, Jo,’ she said, trying to keep her voice as non-threatening as possible.

‘What are we doing here? What is this place?’ Jo had made some steps in the direction of the path that had brought them here, but fortunately Gwaine had taken hold of her arm, so she couldn’t get any further away. ‘Let me go! Ros!’

‘Not before you’ve taken a bath, my lady,’ the knight said.

Jo eyed the pool and obviously found it as uninviting as her boss. ‘I’m not going in there! Why have you brought me here?’

‘To heal you,’ Ros said. To bring back the real Jo. Not that they were friends. _Being colleagues is enough._

Jo struggled against Gwaine’s grip on her arms, but was not very successful. ‘I don’t want healing! I don’t need healing!’

‘So you turned against your own colleagues of your own free will then, did you?’ Ros asked sarcastically. There was a conviction in Jo’s eyes that made her blood boil. She should have repeatedly bashed Mordred’s head against a rock instead of tying him to one. Maybe his death could have broken his hold over Jo at the same time. Well, too late for that now.

‘Yes, I did.’ It was telling that she did not even bother to deny it. ‘After what you did to Morgana, how could I not?’

Ros could compile a list of reasons several pages long with reasons why not, but listing them would do her no good. Jo wouldn’t see it. Everything she did and said was Mordred’s doing. Bloody magic. The more she saw of it, the more she became convinced that the bad sides outweighed the good. Uther may well have been on to something when he outlawed it.

‘That would be the same Morgana who tortured Lucas?’ she asked. Another colleague she had failed and an image she still couldn’t get out of her head. Although she hadn’t told anyone, she would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, seeing him the way he had been then.

‘He had betrayed her,’ Jo said. ‘But you’d know all about that, don’t you, Ros? That’s what you’re good at, aren’t you?’

For all that her mind had been twisted, some sentiments were clearly hard to get rid of. Jo had always resented her for it, but she had never been so vocal about it. As if she needed any more proof by now that this was not really her colleague.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am good at betrayal. You’re not.’

Jo clearly had not suspected that Ros would admit that. She was generally quite prickly whenever someone brought the subject up. It wasn’t that she denied what she had done, but she could do without her team rubbing her nose in it. If she wanted reminding, Richard Dolby never failed to do that job quite admirably.

Merlin clearly thought this was not going quite according to plan. ‘Ros, what are you doing?’ He was giving off the first signs of an impending panic attack.

‘Agreeing with her,’ she replied.

‘But…’ he began.

‘No, really, it’s no problem,’ Ros insisted, willing him to just _shut up_ before he ruined it all. ‘I’ve betrayed my country twice. I’m not ashamed of that. I did what I had to do.’ She turned back to Jo. ‘But you’re no traitor, are you? That’s why you hate me, because I did what you never could.’ And Mordred had somehow twisted her very essence. In payment Ros would gladly twist his head round, a couple of times, just for good measure.

Jo was still silent. Her struggling seemed to have ceased for the moment, but Gwaine was still holding her arms. Good thing, too.

‘You were never a traitor, were you, Jo?’ she asked, trying to sound gentle, with the emphasis on trying. She really wasn’t good at social interaction, not with people who really knew her, who knew who she was and what she had done. ‘That’s where you and I differ. You never pretended your dislike. That was all you.’

‘You were fooled, Ros,’ Jo snapped. ‘You’re not as observant as you’d like to think.’

Ros’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, I am exactly as observant as I think. I know you, Jo. You’d never betray your friends. You hate traitors. You loathe me, you despise Connie. So now you want me to believe Mordred only had to smile at you before you decided to join our ranks?’

‘His cause is justified.’ There was something in her eyes, but it was only a second and then it was gone again.

‘Enough for you to betray your colleagues and friends?’ Ros asked. She wasn’t religious, but she’d almost wished she was, if only because she would have someone to direct her desperate pleas for this to work at. It was the best she could do, but her best didn’t mean it was sufficient. There was a reason she didn’t do people.

Jo’s eyes sparked. ‘I am not a traitor.’

‘Looks like that to me. You tried to kill Merlin, Jo.’ It felt like she was finally getting somewhere.

‘I did what I had to,’ Jo objected.

‘You turned on your friends,’ Ros insisted. ‘That’s what treason is.’

‘I am _not_ a traitor!’ She spoke with more force now.

Ros did a step back. Too far as it turned out. The shoreline had been only just behind her and the lake was every bit as cold and unappealing as it had looked. The water that drenched her socks and her jeans was icy.

‘Then prove it,’ she challenged her colleague. ‘Let yourself be healed.’

‘I am not a traitor.’ The words were hardly more than a whisper now. Ros wasn’t one for entertaining idle hopes, but this hope didn’t feel like it was based on nothing more than her own wishes.

Maybe Gwaine had more sense than Ros had given him credit for, because he too seemed to have noticed the shift in Jo’s attitude. He let her arms go and did a step back. Jo herself did not even seem to notice. Her eyes were both looking and not looking at Ros. She looked like someone who’d been whacked over the head and had her whole world turned upside down.

‘I am not a traitor,’ she repeated, only a little louder now.

‘Then prove it, Jo.’ Ros did another step back in order to maintain eye contact. The chill of the water made her shiver and sent cramps through her feet and legs, but this contact was fragile. As soon as her concentration wavered, she’d lose her. _The magic that binds her will fight against your every attempt_ , Merlin had said. And Ros Myers was not a quitter. She didn’t lose.

‘I am not a traitor.’ Jo was at the shoreline now, walking like she was drunk, as if every step was a fight in and out of itself. It might be; it was not as if Ros knew anything about magic or the strength of it, although she could testify to the enormous amount of power behind Mordred’s blowing-people-off-their-feet spells.

She held Jo’s gaze, but refrained from repeating her challenge. For every step Jo did forward, she did one backward. She didn’t think that was quite necessary, but the last thing she wanted was to disturb this thing – whatever the hell that was – that had Jo walking on and on until she was waist deep in the lake. By that time the water reached Ros’s chest. It got deep here pretty quickly and by now the cold was doing strange things to her breathing. But she didn’t dare move. She’d get Merlin to magically dry her up as soon as it was done.

On shore Merlin had begun to chant. Ros didn’t understand a single word of it, but there was something in the tone that made his every word ring with power and authority. And that made her uncomfortable, if only because it was so far removed from what she was used to from him.

Light appeared around Jo, bright enough that Ros had to shield her eyes until it faded again. There was something in the air, a tingling that caused goose bumps all over her body. She could almost taste it. Even though she still didn’t like magic, it felt significantly friendlier than Mordred’s.

When she lowered her arm again, nothing appeared to have changed. She was still standing in the ice-cold pool, Jo just a few metres away from her. For a moment she didn’t think it had worked at all, that her way of convincing her colleague had counted as trickery in the book of whoever it was that decided over these things and that her efforts had been for nothing after all.

But then Jo smiled and it was a real smile this time. ‘Thank you, Ros.’ That must be a first as well.

There were only so many firsts Ros could take on one day and her aversion to being thanked when she had only done her job had not magically been cured along with Jo’s enchanted state. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘You should go and thank your bouncing puppy dog before he jumps in and gets pneumonia.’ Merlin was indeed all but bouncing, smile so wide it could have easily have split his face in half.

While Ros was relieved as well, she wasn’t as relieved as she thought she would have been. Normally she did a good job of not thinking of her own past. She certainly didn’t voluntarily talk about it. There was something that felt remarkably like shame that soured any joy she might have felt.

Jo did as she was told, probably because she realised that her efforts would be utterly wasted on the Section Chief. And indeed Merlin crushed her in a hug the moment she was out of the water. Even Gwaine was on his best behaviour. He bowed, took her hand and placed a kiss on it, causing her blush as crimson as Gwaine’s now-absent cloak.

Ros Myers watched them, their joy. She hadn’t felt this lonely in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, apologies for that ridiculous long wait. I’ve got reasons, but still. Anyway, I’m getting back on track, so hopefully the updates will be frequent again from now on.  
> Next time: Merlin has a theory.  
> As always, thank you for reading and if you have a moment, reviews would be very much appreciated.


	36. Chapter 36

They did it. There was a giddy feeling starting somewhere in his stomach, but spreading out from there to every last part of his body, until he could have started dancing, until his face would be split by the most magnificent smile he’d ever smiled. Jo was wading out of the water, relief and joy written all over her face. This was the Jo he remembered. This was how she was supposed to be.

‘You’re back!’ It was quite an unnecessary comment, but Merlin didn’t care. Today he really didn’t care. He pulled her in for a hug the moment she was back on dry land again, really not caring that she was soaked.

‘Thank you, Merlin,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome.’ More than welcome. ‘I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m really, really sorry.’ In a way he had only been setting right what he’d done wrong. Not that he was stupid enough to blame Mordred’s crimes on himself, but still. And it was not as if Ros had let him forget where he had failed.

Thinking of Ros made him let go of Jo, who now had her hand kissed by Gwaine and blushed bright red. The Section Chief had been in deeper water than Jo and she wasn’t out yet, and she didn’t seem in a hurry to do so either. There was that expression on her face that betrayed absolutely nothing. She was watching the happiness on shore, but didn’t seem to be wanting to participate in it. Instead she kept her distance.

And Merlin thought that maybe he knew why. He hadn’t expected the way she would choose to get through to Jo at all. He thought that maybe she’d appeal to Jo as a colleague, what with the way she was forever carrying on about how colleagues are okay with Lucas. It was like a bit of spy code, a dictate to trust their own. It was the only way Merlin thought Ros had stood a chance of doing it.

Except that was not what she had done and the moment those first words had come over her lips – _I am good at betrayal. You’re not_ – and he realised what she was doing, he had been so shocked that it was a good thing he hadn’t needed to cast the spell there and then. For all that he had suspected Lucas of betrayal in the past, it was Ros who had really done it. Twice. Of course Merlin knew about it. It was not a secret on the Grid, but it had shocked him to the core to learn how little she actually regretted doing it. How did Harry still trust her? How did anyone trust her?

For him it had served to point out the differences between the two women. Jo was loyal to a fault while Ros was… The thing was that he didn’t know what Ros was. From what he had seen of her, she was fiercely loyal to her team, but then there were those words… _I’ve betrayed my country twice. I’m not ashamed of that. I did what I had to do._ In a way it reminded him of Morgana, who had been singularly unremorseful about her actions, convinced that she had done the right to her very last breath.

‘Are we going to stand here till kingdom come or could we get back to Camelot before we catch our death from pneumonia?’ The subject of his musings snapped him out of them. ‘And let’s drag that piece of garbage with us while we’re at it. You _can_ keep him under control, can’t you?’

‘Yes?’ He meant that yes, but Ros had taken him by surprise, so it didn’t come out as convincing as he would have liked. Of course that was unlikely to make her like him better. There was always that dismissal she radiated when he was in her presence.

‘The best I can get, I suppose.’

‘Well, I can dry you up,’ he offered. He risked a cheeky smile. ‘Before you catch your death of pneumonia, that is.’

Ros’s look told him the humour went entirely unappreciated, but she didn’t exactly protest either, standing still while he did what he did best. He dried Jo while he was at it, too. In the current company everyone knew he had magic. He didn’t need to hide.

Gwaine was still charming Jo while they made their way back to pick up Mordred, leaving Merlin and Ros to follow. Ros was taciturn, looking in that way that made it obvious she didn’t want to talk. She seemed, for lack of a better word, uneasy. If she had been anyone else, Merlin might have thought she was embarrassed by what had happened and what she had said.

‘I don’t think you are a traitor,’ he said, not sure why he initiated the contact when neither of them wanted it. To clear the air maybe and because he meant it. He didn’t think Ros was about to turn on them now. She hated Mordred too much, would want her revenge on him. She hadn’t been that different with Morgana.

She directed a sardonic smile at him. ‘Let’s open the wine to celebrate, shall we?’

‘I just meant…’ he began. _I just meant I am not going to turn on you like I turned on Lucas_. That was what he intended to say, but he found that he couldn’t bring himself to let the words come out.

Which was why it was a bit of a relief that Ros didn’t let him finish. ‘I know what you meant,’ she said curtly. ‘The thing is, Merlin, it doesn’t matter what you think about me. I don’t care.’ She genuinely sounded like she meant what she said.

‘You care about what Harry thinks, though,’ he observed. ‘And Lucas.’

Whatever it was that was going on between those two – and it took a better person than Merlin to get the measure of them – it was strong. Even if only for that reason he contemplated telling her what the Dochraid had said about Lucas, about the magic she had sensed on him and about Lucas’s own concern about it. It had unnerved Merlin as well. There was something he had missed and there weren’t many people he could ask for advice. Lucas had made it perfectly clear he didn’t want Harry to know and Arthur was still tetchy about the M-word. He had considered telling Gaius, but he also felt he couldn’t do that without Lucas’s explicit consent.

Apparently he had been quiet for too long, because when he did look back at Ros, he found himself at the receiving end of her best scrutinising gaze. ‘What about Lucas?’ There was really nothing amiss with her intuition. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Merlin, spit it out before you choke on it.’ He didn’t think he imagined the unspoken warning that she would wring his neck if she didn’t like what he said about her colleague.

‘The Dochraid,’ he said.

‘What about the bloody Dochraid?’ Ros was getting impatient and she hadn’t been in a good mood to begin with.

Which was why he could not for the life of him understand why he responded with a quip. ‘Well, she was bloody when Lucas was done with her.’

‘Merlin…’ The tone indicated that she was seconds away from hitting him.

‘You sound like Arthur,’ he grumbled. Not that surprising considering the fact that Arthur had spent a lot of time around her when they were in London for reasons only known to himself. Ros’s eyes narrowed and he decided to speak before she could explode in true Myers fashion. ‘She wanted to hold his hand, said she smelled magic on him. She said he carried it with him, but she didn’t explain it. Lucas was a bit… anxious about it.’

Ros snorted. ‘And that is so strange? Of course he’d like nothing better than to be reminded of his stint in Morgana’s hovel. Of course he’d just _love_ to relive those memories.’

 _You don’t understand_ , he thought. It could be that it was just his intuition, but he didn’t think it was just Morgana’s magic the Dochraid had talked about. She had said she smelled powerful magic and had sensed he had been touched by the Old Religion. Merlin knew enough to know that both his powers and Morgana’s derived from the Old Religion, so that could explain what she had sensed. It was natural that what she had done had left a mark somehow. He’d probably be able to find it himself if he made an effort. But she had made the distinction between magic and the Old Religion. The longer he thought about it, the more important it seemed.

‘That’s not…’ he tried to explain.

Again, Ros did not let him finish. ‘He gets enough of the porcelain doll treatment from Harry,’ she snapped. ‘He doesn’t need your bloody fussing as well.’

Merlin recognised a lost cause when he saw one, so he decided to leave it for the time being, at least until he could at least define what it was about the Dochraid’s words that kept tugging at the edge of his mind. Why the distinction, why those remarks? He hadn’t quite ruled out the theory that she had only said those things to make them nervous, to compromise them, but that seemed too petty a thing to do for one so ancient and so powerful.

Then it hit him. What if…? He hardly dared to finish that thought. It seemed too ludicrous to even think it. Magic was extinct in the land where they came from. He remembered only too well how much convincing Ros had taken before she even wanted to consider the possibility of magic and that was with camera footage at her disposal. Sometime between now and then magic had vanished completely. It was the sad truth, one that Merlin had trouble accepting, but with so much evidence it was hard to deny.

But what if that wasn’t true? What if it was still there, but just buried so deep because people reasoned it all away, declared it to be nonsense. When practising magic, it wasn’t just about the raw power and the spells; it took belief in one’s own power to do it. Most people could do magic once they put their minds to it, although admittedly some had more potential than others. Merlin was the exception to the rule, because his magic was instinctive, something he had been born with. But most sorcerers didn’t start out levitating objects from the cradle.

What if…?

Hope started to grow. He could see it, could see what it meant if it was true.

What if…?

‘What are you smiling at?’ Ros’s eyes were still narrowed, but in suspicion this time, not anger.

‘Nothing!’ he said quickly. ‘Just glad Jo is back.’ He was, he really was, but even that success was trumped by the realisation he’d just had. Of course Ros would not be half so pleased as he was. Quite the contrary, Ros did decidedly not like magic. And he’d not had so much of a realisation as a theory. It needed checking. And maybe it was only because he so desperately wanted it to be true that he thought that it was. But life did not work like that and so he had to temper his enthusiasm.

Ros nodded, but didn’t offer any verbal confirmation that she too was glad that Jo was her normal self again. But then, Merlin knew better than to expect such a display of emotion by now. In fact, he might start to suspect something was wrong with her if she suddenly would start being more open.

‘Where has he gone?’ It was Gwaine who gave him a good reason to direct his thoughts elsewhere. The knight and Jo had come to a standstill near the place where they had left Mordred tied to a rock. The rock was still there. Mordred was not.

Ros cursed and went for her gun. She didn’t have anyone to point it at and even if she did, Mordred was much faster than she was. The bullet would never make it to him before he erected one of those magical shields. But he suspected it made her feel safer to have a weapon in hand. It was better than to be completely vulnerable in the face of danger.

Jo frowned in confusion. ‘Where has who gone?’

‘Mordred,’ Ros hissed.

‘He was here?’ Merlin could have sworn Jo paled a bit. Not that he could blame her for that. He’d done a bit of reading about the Teine Diaga before they left for the Cauldron of Arianrhod and he knew that the ritual involved mandrake roots, making the victim suffer hallucinations of their worst nightmares. When he was done, he almost wished he could erase the information from his mind. How could anyone inflict that kind of suffering on anyone? Of course, maybe he should not have been surprised given the fact that Mordred had been so chummy with Morgana, who after all didn’t do kindness unless she needed something and that was the only way to get it.

‘With the emphasis on _was_ , apparently,’ Ros observed, before she turned on Merlin. ‘I thought you said you could keep him under control?’ With just a few words she made it seem as though it was his fault that it had all gone south.

And that was not the case. ‘That blow should have knocked him out for much longer,’ he defended himself.

‘Maybe I am stating the obvious,’ Gwaine said. Merlin could swear Ros muttered a barely audible ‘you can say that again’ under her breath. ‘But is no one else wondering why he didn’t come after us? He seemed pretty determined to stop us earlier.’

It was hard to argue with the truth of that. Mordred had seemed intent on preventing them from reaching the Cauldron of Arianrhod, but now he had gone off to places unknown. And he had been unbound; he’d left the ropes as a nice reminder that he was perfectly able to escape. Now that he thought about it Mordred’s escape wasn’t the most remarkable thing about all of this, but rather the fact that he had gone without trying to stop them.

‘Maybe he knew he was too late,’ he offered. ‘Maybe when he woke we had already done it and he knew there was no point in confronting us about it. Or he was convinced we had failed anyway. And with Jo compromised, she was of no more use to him?’ It was only theory after all. Who knew what went on in Mordred’s head. He conveniently ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him he was starting to think like Ros did. That was not a thought he’d like to entertain.

Speaking of which, the Section Chief shook her head. ‘Not likely.’

‘Why, my lady, will you share with us what you think?’ Gwaine made a mocking bow to go with his mocking question.

‘Jo wasn’t his only plan,’ Ros said, looking as if the idea wasn’t exactly pleasing to her either. ‘He’s got a bloody plan B.’

* * *

 

Lucas could have sworn Harry smiled the moment Jo walked back onto the makeshift Grid and it became apparent that she was her normal self again. The smile however lasted for less than a second and it certainly wasn’t present when he welcomed Jo back on the team. Quite the contrary, it rapidly turned to something more resembling the angry smiley faces when Ros reported that they’d had a run-in with Mordred and that, to make Harry’s day, the Druid had escaped.

‘He escaped.’ Lucas knew his boss well enough to know that this particular tone had never preceded words of praise.

Ros must have sensed that and her mood was not as sunny as it could have been after the successful conclusion of a mission. ‘Well, I wasn’t about to have him wake up in the middle of Jo’s swimming lesson now, was I?’ There was something in her tone that made him believe she had already been on edge. Whatever had happened out there, something hadn’t quite gone according to plan and for some reason Lucas didn’t think it had to do with Mordred. He made a mental note to figure it out later.

‘You could have drowned him if he came in,’ Lucas offered, hoping a quip would alleviate the tension somewhat.

It didn’t work. ‘Ha bloody ha,’ Ros commented, giving him that look that said she was very much not impressed by his attempt at humour. She returned her attention towards Harry. ‘The thing is, Harry, he didn’t come after us.’

‘He’s got another plan.’

Uncharacteristically it was Arthur who interrupted. The king had been taciturn and moody ever since he had briefed his council and had given the command to have an army assembled as soon as possible to meet the threat. Lucas had made an offer to talk about it, which had been slapped down in Myers style – clearly the two of them had spent far too much time together – and Lucas hadn’t pressed the point; he valued his head attached to the rest of his body.

Ros turned to him. ‘What plan?’

‘One that involves Saxons and legendary battles,’ Lucas replied, hoping she knew what he was talking about. Generally Ros had no patience for anything that even remotely came close to fiction, but surely even she would have heard of this piece of legend. Seeing as how it included Arthur’s death, he sincerely hoped she would not blurt out that piece of information. Arthur was edgy enough as it was and quite frankly, Lucas was not quite ready to consider the man’s death in the near future. He’d become somewhat of a friend lately; he certainly annoyed him enough to deserve the title.

Ros’s face adopted the you’ve-got-to-be-bloody-kidding-me look Lucas had come to know quite well, so he assumed that she knew. ‘Isn’t that just bloody brilliant?’ she remarked. _Easy on the sarcasm, Ros._ ‘Where the hell do these Saxons come from anyway?’

‘They come crawling out of the woodwork every once in a while,’ Arthur said. ‘But they wouldn’t dare risk an attack on Camelot now unless they had some sort of advantage.’

‘Which is where Mordred comes in,’ Lucas finished. _Don’t you love it when the legends come to life before your eyes?_

Of course Ros had just about as much regard for legends and history as she had for the CIA. They were both useful for as long as they served her purposes. If not, she ignored them and did what she thought best and damn the consequences. Well, and since legends were so hazy and there were so many versions of the same story, Lucas didn’t really mind messing around in history himself. Neither did Harry apparently, given his decision to stay and unleash all kinds of hell on Mordred.

‘We need someone in there with Mordred, undercover,’ Lucas observed before Ros could respond. That was how they did it with the terrorists and while the Saxons were no terrorists in the traditional sense of the word, the idea was similar enough. At the moment they didn’t have a clue what they were planning, although early signs indicated they weren’t popping in for tea.

‘Which is a problem,’ Arthur stated. ‘There’s no one in Camelot that won’t look at least vaguely familiar to Mordred. Their covers would be blown in less than a minute.’ Judging by Arthur’s words, he had been too long in Thames House. Fortunately he didn’t point out that Section D was dangerously short on officers already. Even then, Jo and Ros were unlikely to pass themselves off as men, as soldiers and the idea of Harry as a Saxon soldier was only good for a laugh.

‘That’s not a problem.’ Merlin had been really quiet until now. He’d spent his time either grinning widely in Jo’s direction – no surprise there – and sending pensive glances at Lucas. He had no idea what had warranted such a treatment, but they were unsettling. ‘I can magically change their appearance and Mordred won’t be any the wiser.’ When the people in the room collectively stared at him, he added: ‘I can make myself look like an old man, remember? It’s child’s play to alter someone else’s appearance. Temporarily of course.’

Lucas took his word for it. It wasn’t as if he knew anything about magic at all and, if he was honest, he really rather liked to keep it that way.

Not that he was likely to get his way with that. This development made it perfectly clear that there was only one person qualified enough to go in. He wouldn’t trust any of Arthur’s knights to run a bath, much less an undercover mission, Arthur was needed here, Mordred would detect Merlin’s power and Harry was a leader who couldn’t be missed. And there were no women in the army in this day and age.

‘So, when do I leave?’ he asked briskly.

Unlike the time when he had volunteered to go undercover with Morgana there was no resounding chorus of no that met his offer. No one was even vaguely under the impression he was about to turn on them now. _At least they’ve learned that lesson_. There was still that trace of resentment and bitterness coming to the surface every now and then. Most of the time it stayed dormant, but it was never quite forgotten. Forgiven, yes, but never far from his mind all the same.

‘As soon as we’ve found you a decent cover story.’ Harry had shifted into operational mode. There was no doubt whatsoever that he was still not pleased with the latest developments, but they had moved past that. Later there might be some time to reflect on the sheer absurdity of running an undercover operation in the legendary kingdom of Camelot, but since there would be no legendary kingdom if the Saxons marched in and took it, that could not be a priority at the moment. The state of the Home Secretary’s health though as he learned of it…

‘That’s not a problem,’ was probably Merlin’s new motto. He’d said it twice this far. ‘He could pretend to be a sorcerer that’s hunted down because of his magic.’ There was a twinkling in Merlin’s eyes that Lucas did decidedly not trust. ‘Mordred’s really feeling strongly about magic and all. He’d be able to relate to being hunted when he was a child.’

‘Well, unless he’s discovered magical powers overnight, that’s unlikely to convince Mordred.’ Ros dismissed the idea without a second thought and even Lucas had to admit that it might have worked if they really had a sorcerer at their disposal they could send in, seeing as how they hadn’t this was not Merlin’s brightest idea to date.

‘But he has.’

For a moment Merlin’s objection did not make an ounce of sense. There was not a chance in hell that Lucas had discovered he was some sort of sorcerer. They had already concluded that magic was blissfully extinct in the twenty-first century, much to Merlin’s dismay. Lucas was leaning more towards relieved. Terrorists wreaked enough havoc with bombs and guns. The last thing they wanted was for them to discover magic. Guns could be taken away and bombs could be dismantled, but how did one deal with a rampaging sorcerer? No, this whole magic thing was best left in Camelot.

Harry’s face started to resemble an over-boiled lobster as he directed his best hurricane-look at Lucas. ‘What is he talking about?’ he demanded.

Lucas shrugged. ‘I was wondering the same thing.’ All that magic must have finally addled Merlin’s brain somewhat. It was either that or Ros had finally made good on that unspoken intention to whack the warlock over the head.

‘The Dochraid,’ Merlin said.

Lucas felt as though he had swallowed a glacier whole. It kept coming back to that, didn’t it? He’d known something was off with the Dochraid, but he’d put it down to his ordeal at Morgana’s hands, which quite frankly was terrifying enough. He had never contemplated that was not what she had meant.

Merlin interpreted Harry’s stunned silence as an unspoken request to elaborate. ‘She said that she smelled powerful magic on him, but also mentioned that Lucas had been touched by the Old Religion.’

Lucas didn’t know why that distinction mattered. If he had understood Merlin at all – and he had to admit he tended to zone out when Arthur’s servant dove into the particulars of magic; it all went over his head anyway – then they were pretty much the same thing. He’d assumed she only used those cryptic words to seem at least somewhat impressive.

‘Yes?’ It was testimony to Ros’s self-control that she was still sitting down instead of twisting Merlin’s head round. If Lucas disliked magic, then Ros hated it. Passionately. The same was more or less true for Harry, although he was opportunistic enough to make use of it as long as it suited his purposes.

‘Well, Morgana’s magic was tied strongly to the Old Religion and what she did would have left a mark of some kind,’ Merlin explained. There was no trace of insecurity; he knew what he was talking about and was confident in his knowledge of his powers. Lucas had seen that before, but it was so rare that it was still remarkable. ‘It’s just something that lingers, doesn’t do any damage. It’s like reading a file of his history with magic.’

That came out a bit more rushed, probably because Harry was giving him that look that suggested the prospect of a career spent in the paper archive. In any other situation Lucas might have found the sight of his boss so thoroughly out of his depth amusing, but not now. As it was, he had a sudden suspicion where this was going and it set his teeth on edge.

‘But she said she smelled magic on him, so I think…’ Merlin seemed to struggle for words, but not because he was scared. If anything, he looked delighted, as if he had discovered the greatest treasure known to mankind. ‘I mean, any old fool can do magic if they make a bit of effort, like Gaius.’ Disgruntled looks from most of the people around the table. Arthur’s shock stood out. He was positively gaping at his servant. Not surprising, that. Technically magic was still outlawed and Arthur was the one to enforce the law. He was unlikely to appreciate the idea that, with some practise, he was capable of most of the things his servant did.

 _I wonder how kindly Gaius will take to being called an old fool_ , Lucas thought. It was better to think thoughts like that rather than the ones that were preying on his mind.

‘Are you telling me…?’ Arthur appeared to choke on his tongue.

Merlin’s smile widened. ‘If you tried, you could do your own chores in the blink of an eye,’ he informed his king sunnily. ‘Although you’d probably still need help dressing,’ he added when he took in Arthur’s attire. He had made do without his servant that morning and the result looked… well, the less said about that, the better.

Harry’s fist on the table killed the banter instantly. ‘Merlin!’

‘Right,’ Merlin said, composing himself. ‘Well, the Dochraid said she had smelled powerful magic on him.’

The well of patience had well and truly run dry. ‘Which means?’ Harry prompted. The threat of dire consequences if this answer was not to his liking was not mentioned, but it certainly did not go unheard.

Merlin took a deep breath and then threw it all out. ‘That Lucas may have more potential to do magic than most.’

There, it was out now. Lucas was not even sure he believed all of that, but it went without saying that Merlin _was_ the unquestioned authority on everything magic and if he said something like that, it was probably true.

And Lucas didn’t want it to be true, at all.

It was Ros who broke the silence and diffused the tension that announcement left in its wake. ‘You’re not going all Harry Potter on me, are you, Lucas?’ The sardonic smile was more of a reassurance than any comforting words would have been.

And so he found himself smiling back. ‘Nah, probably couldn’t keep my balance on a broomstick.’

He just couldn’t see it, the muttering gibberish and flashing eyes resulting in something there was no scientific explanation for, not when it was him muttering the gibberish and flashing his eyes. He tolerated Merlin’s magic as long as it was useful, but he’d seen it used for things he’d rather forget. When push came to shove it was a weapon and while he did not object to the use of weapons to take out the bad guys, it was only to fight the good fight. The only use for guns was to fight the bad guys with the guns. Fighting fire with fire, so to speak. In itself it served no purpose. And Lucas was not champing at the bit to try his hand at it himself. He preferred to keep it a bit more down to earth.

The joy had been wiped from Merlin’s face when he realised his revelation had not prompted unmitigated glee from Section D. ‘But…’

Lucas snorted. ‘I am no sorcerer, Merlin.’ And neither did he want to be. ‘We’ll have to find another cover story.’

He left the room before anyone could react to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Arthur has issues and Merlin is reminded of something he had forgotten.  
> Thank you for reading. If you have a moment, reviews would be welcome.


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